


The Last Ten Years

by ariadne_dionysia



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: M/M, Pythacarus - Freeform, childhood AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_dionysia/pseuds/ariadne_dionysia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Pythagoras thought he would have in the world was love. After being exiled from Samos for the murder of his father, Pythagoras came to Atlantis with the hopes of starting over. But when Pythagoras is taken in by one of the greatest inventors in Atlantis, he finds the thing he never thought he would have again: a family. "The Last Ten Years" follows Pythagoras over the course of ten years as he discovers love, acceptance, and mathematics.</p><p>"The Last Ten Years" is a skeleton AU, and follows a few major plot points of the show.</p><p>Have questions, thoughts? They're more likely to get answered if you send them to my tumblr, ariadnedionysia, though I will try and answer any here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Pythagoras knocked on the door to the workshop three times, staring up at the iron Delta symbol nailed to the wood with an overwhelming feeling of apprehension. After a moment the door opened, and a boy about Pythagoras’ age peered out at him. He was a strange little thing, with wide brown eyes that looked too big on his face, a barrel of a chest and legs skinny as twigs. He smiled at Pythagoras before he was pushed aside. An old man with a stern face looked down at him, half scowling. “Yes?”_

_“Are you Daedalus?” Pythagoras asked softly._

_Daedalus nodded. “I am.”_

_“M-my name is Pythagoras.” Pythagoras straightened himself to his full height, though he barely reached Daedalus’ shoulders. “I’m from Samos, and I was hoping--I-I had been told to come find you.”_

_Daedalus looked unimpressed. “Well, Pythagoras from Samos,” he said, leaning down a fraction and scrutinizing Pythagoras’ anxious face. “What is it you can do that makes you think I would want to see you?”_

_Pythagoras reached into his bag hastily and pulled out a handful of his drawings. He held them out to Daedalus. “I’m a mathematician,” he said. “I want to learn more. They said you were the best mind in Atlantis, so here I am.” Daedalus took his drawings and shuffled through them slowly. He held one up in front of Pythagoras’ nose._

_“What’s this?”_

_“It’s a triangle.”_

_Daedalus rolled his eyes. “I know what a triangle is, boy, what are these scribbles?” He pointed to the notes beside the triangle with one short finger._

_Pythagoras’ face flushed. “It’s a theorem I’m working on,” he said quickly. “To try and find a way to calculate the sides of a triangle if you know the measurements of say, two sides. I’m still working out the mathematics of it.”_

_Daedalus looked at him for a moment, then at the drawings again. Finally he nodded and stepped aside. “We were just about to eat,” he said gruffly. “Where are you staying?”_

_Pythagoras shook his head and took a hesitant step into the workshop. “I don’t know,” he said softly. The workshop was everything he’d ever dreamed of back in Samos; there were inventions everywhere, on the tables and floor and even hanging from the rafters, and the whole back wall was covered in scrolls from floor to ceiling. He could spend hours just looking at all there was in the workshop, and he doubted he could ever be bored in such a place._

_Daedalus huffed behind him and shut the door. “We’ve got a spare room you can sleep in,” he said. Pythagoras looked back at him with surprise. Daedalus held up a hand. “But you’ll have to help Icarus with chores and run errands for me when I ask. Understood?”_

_Pythagoras nodded quickly. Relief built up in his chest, and a tentative elation at the prospect of having the workshop as his home. He could not have dreamed such a fate for himself when he’d stepped off the boat from Samos, not in a thousand years. Daedalus’ mouth twitched upwards in a flash of a smile before he nodded towards another room, where the smell of freshly baked bread was rich on the air. “We were just about to eat, come on. I expect you’re hungry?”_

_Pythagoras nodded again and followed Daedalus into the next room. The boy with the big eyes--Icarus-- was there, hastily putting another bowl on the table and ladeling hot broth into it. A fresh loaf of bread sat at the middle of the table giving off a heavenly smell, and even just the sight of it made Pythagoras’ stomach grumble and his eyes water. Was this what homes looked like? Icarus looked up at him and grinned. He pointed to the nearest seat._

_“I put you there,” he said, pausing in his ladeling to watch Pythagoras’ expression. “Is that alright?”_

_Pythagoras nodded. “It’s perfect.”_

 

 


	2. Book I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been one year since Pythagoras arrived in Atlantis, and life is far from what he'd expected it to be.

Pythagoras woke up to the familiar sight of Icarus’ big brown eyes staring back at him, close enough that he could feel Icarus’ breath against his cheek. It was dawn, the sun was just barely beginning to pour its light into his room through his window. Icarus smiled at him expectantly from beside his bed and bounced a little on his heels.

“You ready?” he asked softly.

Pythagoras rolled over. “Is Daedalus up yet?” he asked, and rubbed his eyes. He’d barely gotten any sleep; his mind had been filled with dreams of his life in Samos. The thought of them made him shudder and pull his thin blanket around his shoulders.

Icarus chuckled and flopped himself onto Pythagoras’ bed so his hair tickled the back of Pythagoras’ neck. “The sun may mark the turning of the cosmos and bring about the beginning of the day,” he said, his hands moving in the air above him. “But it does not rule when Father gets up.” He bumped Pythagoras’ shoulder and rolled from the bed. “Come on, Pythagoras, we’ve got to get to market.”

Pythagoras rolled his eyes and pulled himself from bed. A year in Atlantis and the routine never got old. Icarus was always up before he was, and would tiptoe down the hall to Pythagoras’ room so they could go down to the market to get breakfast. Pythagoras pulled his sandals on while Icarus waited, his eyes darting between Pythagoras and his drawings on the desk.

“How’s your theorem?” he asked, as Pythagoras pulled on his overshirt and put on his belt.

Pythagoras shook his head with a hint of exasperation. “I’m stuck,” he said. “I know what I want the solution to be, I just can’t… seem to figure out the question.”

Icarus glanced up at him and smiled. “You’re the smartest man I know,” he said. He stepped forward and touched Pythagoras’ shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. Now, breakfast.”

Pythagoras grinned at him, and together they trotted down the old staircase into the workshop and out the door onto the street. Pythagoras breathed in the early morning air and sighed heavily; Atlantis seemed to beckon him each morning when he left the workshop, calling him onto its streets. Icarus walked beside him, his bag thrown lazily over his shoulder and at his most relaxed with  his head leaning back a little to collect the warmth of the sun on his face. Every few seconds he’d glance over at Pythagoras, as though to make sure he was still there, then he’d continue to walk.

It was strange for Pythagoras to think how quickly Atlantis had started to feel like home. But as he walked down the street with Icarus towards the market, and waved greetings back at those who said hello to them, it struck him once again that this was a place he could feel like he belonged. The thought was both wonderful and terrifying for Pythagoras to consider; when he’d left Samos, it had been with the thought that he would be an exile for life, and that his home had been taken from him. But it did not feel that way with Daedalus and Icarus. He was a guest in their house, but he loved them as though they were his own family. The thought that soon he would be expected to find a home of his own was what terrified him the most, and though Daedalus had yet to bring it up he knew it would be coming. It had been a year, after all. He couldn’t expect to be part of their home forever. The gods would not smile upon him like that after what he’d done in Samos. How could they?

Icarus nudged him, holding up a bag of dates for him to take. Pythagoras smiled bashfully and took them, and he and Icarus continued down the path. “So,” Icarus said, trying to sound as casual as possible as he paused to look at breads. “Father said he’s going out tomorrow for most of the day. We’ll have to do some work, but I doubt he’d be mad if we took a break. Do you want to--would you want to…?” He trailed off as Pythagoras paid the vendor for a fresh loaf of bread and put it in his bag. Pythagoras glanced at him.

“Want to what?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Icarus paused for a moment, then shook his head with a grin. “Some other time,” he said. “When you’re not secretly spending every second thinking about your theorem.”

“I’m not spending every second thinking about my theorem!” Pythagoras protested, smiling in spite of himself as he pushed Icarus gently. Icarus laughed.

“I talked nonstop from home to the market and you didn’t say a single word!” he retorted, though the grin on his face told Pythagoras he wasn’t angry. It was nearly impossible to make Icarus angry; he was always smiling at Pythagoras when he caught his eye, always happy and hopeful. “If you weren’t thinking about triangles, what were you thinking about?”

Pythagoras shook his head and looked down to the ground. “I was thinking about Samos,” he said. “And that it’s been a year since I came to Atlantis now. Strange, isn’t it?”

Icarus nodded solemnly. “Very strange,” he agreed. His eyes flickered to Pythagoras’ face, and he looped his arm with Pythagoras’ with a wide grin. “Strange that you have not been here my whole life. It certainly feels as though we’ve known each other that long, doesn’t it?”

Pythagoras chuckled. “It feels like a long time,” he agreed. “But I’m glad for it.” And it was true. Icarus was the thing that made Atlantis truly feel like home. If there’d been a time he’d ever worried that Icarus would not take well to him being there, it seemed laughable to him now. Icarus seemed to love having Pythagoras around more than Pythagoras himself did. He had been lonely too, he’d confessed once, before Pythagoras had arrived. But Pythagoras could not remember what lonely felt like when he was with Icarus, and his life in Samos felt like nothing more than a distant nightmare that had long since passed.

Icarus beamed at him. “What was Samos like?” he asked, releasing his hold on Pythagoras’ arm to select a handful of plums from one of the vendor's’ stalls. “You never say much about it.”

Pythagoras shook his head. “There’s not much to say about it,” he told him. What was there to say about Samos? He’d been unhappy there; he’d been a murderer, an exile. The Pythagoras that had lived in Samos had vanished long ago. Atlantis was his fresh start; he talked little of Samos because the less Icarus knew of it, the safer Pythagoras would be. “The people are not as nice there as they are here.”

Icarus nodded, handing over a few coins to the vendor before proceeding on. “Will you go back there?” he asked. Something in his voice sounded strange, almost apprehensious of the answer Pythagoras might give. Pythagoras glanced at him and saw the worry bright in Icarus’ eyes. His heart sank a little in his chest. Was this Icarus, testing the waters for his father to see when they could get rid of him? Or was it Icarus, his friend, afraid that he might lose him? He bit his lip.

“I’m never going back there,” he said.

Relief swept into Icarus’ eyes like a tide, and he smiled, turning back to the market. “Good,” he said, and the one word lifted a weight from Pythagoras’ chest he had not known was there. Icarus gestured to his bag. “Right, I think that’s all we need. Should we head back? Father will be awake soon.”

Pythagoras nodded. “Let’s go.” They walked back side by side, and things felt easy between them. Pythagoras never had to try with Icarus; he was never bored when they were together, even when Pythagoras talked of his triangles. They joked and laughed, and smiling came as easy to Pythagoras as breathing with Icarus by his side. They reentered the workshop, and Icarus went straight to the second room where they ate their meals to begin setting up breakfast. Pythagoras joined him at the table, and sat hunched over his papers and triangles while Icarus made breakfast.

Daedalus’ footsteps were heard long before he was, and after a moment he entered the room, his squinting eyes scanning the room for food. He caught sight of the plums at the middle of the table and rolled his eyes. “Pythagoras, your idiot brother has gone and wasted my hard earned money on these blasted things again.”

Pythagoras smiled as Icarus sniggered. “I’m sorry, Daedalus,” he said sincerely, and shot a glare at Icarus while he laughed. “He distracted me.”

Daedalus shook his head and sat down. “How is your theorem?” he asked, tapping Pythagoras’ drawings. “Any breakthrough yet?”

Pythagoras shook his head. “Nothing.”

Daedalus pursed his lips. “It’ll come to you,” he said, and patted Pythagoras’ shoulder. “Food will help.” He glanced at Icarus and raised his eyebrows. “Before we starve, Icarus.”

“Coming, Father.” Icarus smiled quickly and placed their plates on the table before sliding into his seat. He half winked at Pythagoras and snatched a plum from the center of the table, barely missing Daedalus’ hand as it swiped at him.

Daedalus rolled his eyes. “You’re nearly a man, Icarus,” he scolded his son with lighthearted exasperation. “And yet still you insist on behaving like a child.”

Icarus glanced ruefully at him and took a large bite from the plum. The juice dripped down his chin as he gave his father a toothy grin. He pointed at Pythagoras. “He’s your responsible child, not me,” he protested. Pythagoras smiled and ducked his head with embarrassment. “He can be good and do his work. I can misbehave now and then.”

“Icarus said you were going out tomorrow,” Pythagoras cut in. Daedalus and Icarus had the same argument nearly every morning, and it always ended the same. Icarus was irresponsible and wild, Daedalus was eccentric but logical. It was strange to think of the two as family sometimes with the way they reacted around each other; they were opposites in so much, even Daedalus seemed sometimes dubious how much his son had really inherited from him. But they had the same glint in their eyes when they worked, the same energy almost like madness that connected them. Arguments or not, they always had that. Pythagoras popped a date into his mouth. “Where are you going?”

Daedalus looked at him and raised his eyebrows before turning back to his plate. “I must make a small trip to the coast,” he told him. “There is a man I need to see about obtaining some new supplies. It will take me half a day to get there at least.” He took a bite of bread, pausing for a moment as he chewed. “I may have to remain there overnight, if the deal takes too long.” Daedalus’ eyes flickered to his son for an instant. “I’ll leave you in charge until I return, Pythagoras. Like Icarus said, you are the more responsible of you two.” His mouth twitched upwards in a smile, which Pythagoras returned after glancing at Icarus.

Daedalus nodded his head in satisfaction at the exchange between the boys. “Make sure he gets some work done,” he said, jerking his head at Icarus. Icarus rolled his eyes with a careless smile and plucked a second plum from the bowl.

“I will,” Pythagoras promised, barely concealing a bemused grin as he tried not to make eye contact with Icarus. Days when Daedalus was not there were always the same: they would work for an hour, sometimes two, before Icarus dragged him off on some adventure. Last time they’d snuck into the temple and tossed seeds at the devotees, the time before that they’d gone to see one of the fights at the arena for a festival of Poseidon.

Daedalus huffed and took another bite of bread. “Let’s get to work, then,” he said, and stood from his seat. Pythagoras slid from his chair, scooping his drawings into his arms and trailing after Daedalus. Icarus moved more easily; he was not as desperate to please Daedalus as Pythagoras was, and moved at his own pace to the workshop. But the second his feet crossed the threshold, his uncaring attitude seemed to vanish, and he was like a priest at the temple, piously studying his art as Daedalus looked on and instructed him.

The day was simple after that. Pythagoras worked, Daedalus and Icarus bickered and built, and by midafternoon their skeleton of an invention was beginning to look like something real. Pythagoras drew and scribbled until his hands ached, then he would pause and just watch Daedalus and Icarus work for a while. Daedalus was a flurry of activity, like a wasp swarming around in a meadow, grabbing this tool and that from his worktable and making adjustments all over his project. The only time Pythagoras ever saw Icarus so still was when he was working. He sat hunched over, his dark eyes squinting slightly as he concentrated, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his lips. He hummed to himself sometimes when he worked. He had a soft voice, much deeper than when he spoke, when he delved into music. Pythagoras’ favorite was when he sang, but often he would just hum the tunes. It was only when Daedalus was not there that he sang, loud and melodiously, his head tilted back and his eyes half-closed while a smile curled up his lips.

By the end of the day they were all exhausted, and after a hasty dinner they went back to their rooms. Pythagoras flopped on his bed and sighed after the long day. Life was simple, he was content. The thought of leaving it haunted him, but for the moment he allowed himself to simply relax, and enjoy the time while he had it.

Sleep was not easy for Pythagoras. At night dreams tormented him: dreams of Samos, of his father, his mother. Even his brother Arcus sometimes haunted his dreams, his young face contorted in grief and rage as he pointed a finger at Pythagoras’ chest. “ _Murderer!_ ” he’d weep, his face screwing up into a horrible and unrecognizable mask. “ _Murderer!_ ”  Pythagoras would step back with each step Arcus took, and he’d trip and fall into darkness. The dreams went on and on, until he felt he would never wake, and it would be nothing but darkness and death forever.

But then a hand would touch his shoulder, and he’d open his eyes to the dawn light and Icarus’ smile waiting for him.

 

 


	3. Book II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras and Icarus go for a swim.

Daedalus always seemed apprehensious to leave them at the workshop alone. He gave Pythagoras his instructions and orders to keep Icarus focused and out of trouble six times before he even reached the door, and each time Icarus rolled his eyes at the orders he’d give a lecture on responsibility. It was nearing midday before they finally got him out of the door, and when they were finally alone in the workshop they grinned at each other with relief.

“Come on,” Pythagoras said, as he always did when Daedalus went out. “We should really try to work.” He returned to his desk and resumed his studying as best he could. Icarus sighed heavily and flopped himself across the floor. He propped himself up on one elbow and started tinkering with the skeleton of an invention he’d started, every few seconds glancing up at Pythagoras. After a while he took his foot and moved it slowly up Pythagoras’ leg, all the way to his knee, and back down to his ankle. Pythagoras tried to ignore him, though the feeling of Icarus’ foot on his leg sent electric shocks to his mind. _Triangles_ , he reminded himself with determination as Icarus’ foot went up his leg again. _One side is equal to…_

But it was impossible to focus. He finally shot a glare at Icarus, who smiled up at him innocently from the floor. “What?” Icarus said, wide-eyed and infuriatingly smooth.

Pythagoras rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” He turned back to his work again, and Icarus pulled his foot back with a chuckle. They worked in silence for a few more minutes, or tried to work. Pythagoras’ eyes kept flickering to Icarus, the movements of his hands, the slow bobbing of his head as he worked, the curve of his smile. Triangles only ever seemed boring when he was watching Icarus. He turned back to his pages, not really paying attention to them, and slowly moved his foot so that when he tapped it, he bumped Icarus’ knee. Icarus looked up at him with surprise, and slowly a smile curved his lips. His delicate fingers tapped a rhythm against Pythagoras’ ankle each time his foot moved, and for a while it was just innocent touching, attempts at work and stolen smiles.

“We should do something fun,” Icarus said at last, when he seemed unable to contain himself any longer. He looked up at Pythagoras’ raised eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve been working long enough--”

“We’ve barely worked past midday!” Pythagoras protested, but Icarus was ahead of him already.

“We have the whole day to work, I’m just talking about a little adventure,” he continued with one of his scheming smiles already spreading across his face. “Let’s do something fun, please? Come on, there must be something you want to do. Something you did for fun back before Father made you think only in triangles. What did you do for fun in Samos?”

Pythagoras paused a moment and thought. What did he do? He had had few opportunities for fun back in Samos, and those he had were fleeting and often to do with his work. But Icarus wanted to do something fun, and while he pretended to be interested in triangles, Pythagoras sincerely doubted that was what he meant by fun. “Well,” he said slowly. “Samos was an island; the best thing to do there was to go swimming.”

Icarus’ smile faded a fraction. “I don’t know how to swim,” he said. His whole face seemed to darken at the thought, and Pythagoras knew with a twinge of guilt that he had stepped on something private. But before he could backtrack, Icarus’ dark eyebrows went up again, and the smile returned to his face. “You can teach me!”

Relief swept through Pythagoras, and he smiled. “Alright, yes,” he said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

Icarus was so eager that he tripped over Pythagoras’ leg. He didn’t fall hard, and to Pythagoras’ relief and his embarrassment Icarus was sitting up again after a moment, shaking his head and covering his face with his hand to hide the fact that it had turned a deep, bright crimson. He glanced up at Pythagoras and let out a bashful laugh. They both laughed at each other for a moment before Pythagoras put out a hand to help Icarus back to his feet. “Before you hurt yourself,” he chuckled, shaking his head. Icarus pulled himself to his feet, and for a moment they just stood there, hands intertwined and grinning, the last giggles still escaping from their lips. Icarus bit his lip and dropped his gaze. Pythagoras released his hold on Icarus’ hand, which he realized with a small start he’d been holding far too long, and quickly moved towards the door, reaching for his cloak. He paused, turning back to Icarus, who had not moved. “You coming?”

Icarus just stood and watched him for a moment before shaking his head and following him out the door with another bashful grin.

* * *

 

Icarus’ determination to learn to swim was short-lived when he discovered how cold the water was. He stood at the shore, his feet barely in the waves, clutching at himself and shivering. Pythagoras had been quick to enter the water, but when he noticed Icarus was no longer with him he paused, and turned his gaze back to the shore. “Icarus, it’s not that bad…”

Icarus pursed his lips. “You do this for fun?” he demanded softly. His teeth had started to chatter.

Pythagoras shrugged and paddled closer to him. “There was not much to do in Samos,” he said. He was close enough that he could stand in the water, with the waves swirling just around his thin hips. “It was one of the only ways to escape from…” He shook his head. “Well, to get away for a while from home.” He put his hands out to Icarus. “Now are you going to come in and join me or will I have to pull you in?”

Icarus gritted his teeth, but forced himself into the water until he could take hold of Pythagoras’ hands.

Pythagoras pulled him a little further from the shore with a reassuring smile, backtracking into the waves until they were up to their chests in the water. “Now kick your feet, alright?” he said. “Nice and quick up and down.”

Icarus did as he was told, his feet moving in nervous little kicks as Pythagoras led him deeper into the waves. Pythagoras grinned at him and nodded, and Icarus’ face broke out into a slow smile. “Do you want me to let go?” Pythagoras asked. “You just paddle with your arms, it’s easy.”

Icarus shook his head quickly, his grip on Pythagoras’ hands tightening a fraction. “Not just yet,” he said. “Wait until I get the hang of it.” He seemed to be doing just fine from Pythagoras’ perspective, but he shook the thought off and just enjoyed paddling back and forth along the shore with Icarus. It had been too long since he’d been swimming, he’d forgotten how much he’d missed it. The sky stretching out above him, the waves rumbling in his ears against the shore, the feel of sand beneath his feet and the weightlessness of floating. It had been the only thing in Samos he had loved, it was like greeting an old friend again when he’d entered the water. And Icarus… over his initial terror of the waves, he seemed quite happy to paddle about, though whenever Pythagoras asked if he wanted to be let go he shook his head.

But Pythagoras didn’t mind. He was happy enough to simply watch the sky and the waves and drift. As time passed his eyes wandered more and more to Icarus’ dark hair as he bobbed along with the waves, or his feet as they flashed every once in a while above the waves in a splash. Icarus seemed intent just on keeping himself up, his gaze fixed firmly on Pythagoras’ collarbone as he focused on his movements. But every now and then his gaze would dart up, and Pythagoras would smile at him until he grinned.

“So why did Daedalus never teach you to swim?” Pythagoras asked after a while. The sun was going down slowly, starting to cast its red gleam on the waves until the waters looked like they were a rich purple. They should have left long ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the moment. “Surely that would be something he’d teach you, with Atlantis being so close to the ocean.”

Icarus shook his head, his gaze still fixed on Pythagoras’ collarbone. “My father hates the ocean,” he said. “Won’t go near it. We used to all come down to the beach together--Father, my mother, and I-- and Mother would take me out to the tidal pools and we’d hunt for shells together.”

Pythagoras smiled faintly. “That sounds wonderful,” he murmured.

Icarus nodded. “It was.” He glanced up at Pythagoras for an instant before dropping his gaze again. “But now it’s just me and Father, we don’t come down here much. It makes him too sad.”

“I wouldn’t have brought you down here if I’d known…” Pythagoras began, glancing back towards the shore. But Icarus shook his head.

“It makes me happy to come back here,” he said. “It’s been a long time. And I’m here with you,” he added, looking up at Pythagoras and smiling. “How could I be sad about that?”

Pythagoras smiled. He gestured towards the sun. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We should get back before dark. Come on.” They paddled back to shore, and it was only after they’d pulled themselves back onto the beach that Icarus released Pythagoras’ hand. They hastily pulled their clothes back on, stealing quick glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Pythagoras caught a glimpse at a long scar trailing up the back of Icarus’ leg, and a little crescent birthmark on his back just over his ribs. He dropped his gaze quickly before Icarus noticed him looking, hoping that the heat in his face was just from the sun. “Ready?” he asked, pretending to avert his gaze politely while Icarus pulled on the rest of his clothes.

Icarus nodded, shaking the water from his dark curls. “Yes.” They hurried up the beach back towards the gate of Atlantis. Pythagoras’ eyes drifted to Icarus’ every few moments, and he couldn’t help but feel that something in his chest was lighter. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know what had brought about the sudden change, he just knew that it was because of Icarus. A smile curled his lips, and stayed with him all the way back to the workshop.

 

 


	4. Book III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras is forced to come clean about his past when Daedalus presents him with an offer he feels he doesn't deserve.

Pythagoras woke up the next morning to the sound of hammering. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and rolled from his bed, stifling a yawn as he stumbled out his door and down the stairs. The early morning light was already pouring in through his window; had Icarus forgotten to wake him? Anxiety twinged at Pythagoras’ heart at the thought that perhaps Icarus didn’t want his company after they’d gone swimming. Had he caught him stealing glances? He had seemed brighter than ever on the walk back, it seemed strange that he would be avoiding him. Perhaps he was just being polite the night before, and now that Daedalus was back he was finally keeping his distance. He trotted down the stairs and searched for the source of the noise.

Icarus had already set up breakfast at the table, and he grinned when Pythagoras came into the room. “Good morning,” he greeted, pausing his work to give Pythagoras a one-armed hug. His hand trailed across Pythagoras’ shoulder to his chest before dropping back to his side. The anxiety that had been building in Pythagoras’ chest lessened, but the pressure remained. But it wasn’t nervous energy in his ribs, but a strange, excitement that surged all the way from his throat to his stomach.

“What’s going on?” Pythagoras asked, glancing at the table. Pythagoras had gotten out the good plates, and there was more food on the table than usual. He looked back at Icarus and raised his eyebrows. “Did something happen? Have I forgotten a festival again?”

The banging stopped, and a moment later Daedalus entered, a hammer still in his hand. He raised his eyebrows at Pythagoras, and his lips twitched upwards in an unusually bright smile. “Pythagoras, good morning,” he said, setting down the hammer and clasping his hands in front of him.

The anxiety returned to Pythagoras’ chest. “Good morning,” he said slowly. His gaze flickered between Icarus and Daedalus. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Daedalus put his hand on Pythagoras’ shoulder. “As you know, it’s been a year since you arrived on our doorstep,” he said, steering Pythagoras out of the room. Icarus practically bounded at their heels. “You have worked most diligently with Icarus and myself, and are as much a part of this house as Icarus is. So--” He pulled the door open wide. “It seems only fitting that you become part of our house. Officially.”

Pythagoras looked at the door. The metal Delta symbol was still there, for Daedalus, and an Iota symbol had been added several months ago for Icarus. But a new symbol had been added, a neat little metal Pi symbol just beneath Icarus’. It felt like he had been simultaneously shot by lightning and smacked across the face; he was part of the family, they’d accepted him as one of their own with open arms. The workshop was his home, his _real home_. He wasn’t a guest any longer, he was one of them. And yet…

Tears started to stream down Pythagoras’ cheeks, and he swiped hastily at his eyes. “I c-can’t,” he choked out, putting a hand to his mouth. Beside him Icarus’ bright smile faltered. “You’ve done so much for me, but I c-can’t.”

Daedalus’ brows furrowed. “Why not?” he asked.

“Because I don’t deserve it.” Pythagoras turned to face both of them. He could hardly bear to meet their eyes, but he had to. He owed it to them to tell the truth. “You’ve been so kind to me, you t-took me in when I had nowhere else to go. And I’ll always be thankful for that. No one has ever shown me such kindness…” He glanced at Icarus. His friend’s dark eyes had filled with tears, and his lip trembled slightly. Pythagoras looked away; he couldn’t bear to see Icarus upset.

Daedalus closed the door slowly and frowned at Pythagoras. “What is this all about, Pythagoras?” he asked. His voice had become unusually soft, but not dangerously so. Pythagoras’ father’s voice had always gotten soft just before he lost his temper, but Daedalus’ was simply kind and worried. What a father should sound like. The kind of father Pythagoras had always wished for and dreamed of, slipping from his grasp just when things had seemed perfect.

Pythagoras dropped his gaze. “My father was a drunk,” he whispered. “Back in Samos, he was always cruel to us, my mother and me. He was a horrible man…” Pythagoras swiped at his eyes again and pulled in a shaky breath.

Icarus looked at him fearfully. “You don’t have to go back,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “Your mother can come here to Atlantis, neither of you have to see your father ever again--”

Pythagoras was already shaking his head. “I didn’t leave Samos to escape my father,” he said, his voice cracking. “I left Samos because I killed my father.” Daedalus’ eyes widened, and Icarus drew in a small gasp. Pythagoras didn’t want to look at either of them. “I was just trying to protect my mother, I didn’t mean to-- I never meant to hurt anyone. I just wanted to make him stop-- My mother told me to leave after his funeral, to get out of Samos and never come back-- I had nowhere else to go, I just wanted-- you’ve been so generous and kind to me, I don’t deserve--I don’t deserve any of it--” He couldn’t continue any further. He wanted to run, as fast and as far from the workshop as he could. He couldn’t bear to even look at Icarus and Daedalus, didn’t want to see the looks of horror and fear on their faces for what he’d done. He brushed at his eyes and stepped back. The door was just in front of him--

Icarus’ hand touched his shoulder, soft and gentle. He looked back at him fearfully. There was no disgust in Icarus’ eyes, no fear or horror. There was pity, and empathy, and that undying kindness that always seemed to be in his gaze. “You were just protecting your mother,” he murmured softly. “No one could blame you for that.”

Pythagoras touched Icarus’ hand and looked to Daedalus. Daedalus was still for a moment before he inclined his head. His hand went around Pythagoras’ shoulders. “You are not to blame for this,” he told him. Pythagoras felt as though his heart would burst from the overwhelming feeling of relief and love towards the two men standing before him. His friends, his family… Icarus’ hand trailed down his arm to his hand and squeezed gently. Pythagoras had never been more grateful for the contact. Daedalus’ lips twitched upwards in a small, reassuring smile. “This place is your home for as long as you wish. Whether that is until today, or a year from now, or ten years is up to you.” He gestured towards the other room with a nod of his head. “Now, there is a fantastic meal in there waiting to be eaten. Shall we?”

Pytahgoras swiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. “That would be brilliant,” he said. Icarus’ smile of relief was bright as the sun beside him. Pythagoras felt like he could breath easy for the first time in his life.

 

 


	5. Book IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras and Icarus attend a festival, where a little too much wine and a beautiful night bring Pythagoras' feelings for Icarus out into the open.

For the first night since it happened Pythagoras slept without dreaming. It was a marvelous feeling, to wake up and not feel the shaking fear still clinging to his chest. He was free, finally free from the bonds that had tied him to Samos. He could leave it all behind and not worry that one day his past would catch up to him and ruin everything. Daedalus and Icarus knew, and it had not changed them. Daedalus still treated him like a son, and Icarus’ smile was the first thing to greet him each morning as he collected him to go to the market.

Icarus woke him up one morning a few weeks later looking unnaturally bright. “There’s a festival tonight,” he said, resting his chin on the side of Pythagoras’ bed. His fingers tapped lightly against Pythagoras’ forearm as he glanced to meet his gaze. “Do you want to go?”

Pythagoras grinned. “Of course.”

He couldn’t focus for the rest of the day, his mind caught up in the prospect of the festival. He longed to spend time with Icarus, outside of the watchful gaze of Daedalus. Time alone with Icarus was a rare and precious thing, and Pythagoras found himself searching for any opportunity where it was just the two of them.

He got his wish as the sun started to dip in the sky. Icarus bounded into the room and pulled him from his desk, waving at Daedalus. “We’ll be back late,” he said. Daedalus waved him off, his eyes intent on his work as he hunched over his desk. Icarus grinned at Pythagoras and led the way to the door. “Sweet Helen of Troy, I didn’t think he would let us go so easily,” he said as they slipped out onto the street. Laurels had been hung from window to window all across the city, and candles were already illuminating the roads.

Pythagoras smiled and nodded his head, glancing at Icarus. The color rose slightly in his cheeks as he looked at him, and he looked away again. What was wrong with him? He focused on the distant view of the Sacred Way straight ahead of them. “It looks amazing,” he said, pointing.

Icarus looked at him, and kept looking. His smile was softer, and his eyes gentle. “Yeah,” he said, quickly turning his gaze back to the Sacred Way. “Yeah, it really is.” He nodded. “Come on, shall we?”

Pythagoras nodded his head quickly. “Yes.” They hurried onto the Sacred Way, which was already a flood of activity and people. Pythagoras let himself marvel in the wonder of it, from the brilliant colors to the heavy smell of incense to Icarus’ look of pure carefree joy. It was more fun to watch Icarus marvel at the sights than it was to admire the sights themselves, and as they walked Pythagoras found himself looking at Icarus more than the festivities. The curve of his smile and the occasional brushing of their hands against each other was as intoxicating as wine, and filled Pythagoras up with a pleasant warmth in his chest.

For a while they just walked, taking in the festival around them in awed silence. After a while Icarus paused at one of the vendors, and exchanged a few coins for a bottle of wine. He grinned at Pythagoras with a shrug. “We should celebrate,” he said with an innocent smile. Pythagoras chuckled as Icarus took a long swig from the bottle before passing it to him. Pythagoras raised the bottle to his lips and drank. The wine was sickly sweet on his lips, and tickled all the way from his mouth to his stomach. He made a face at Icarus and handed the bottle back to him.

Icarus took the bottle and Pythagoras’ hand and pulled him through the crowd. They paused whenever they saw something interesting, and each time they would take a drink from the wine bottle. Pythagoras’ eyes rarely left Icarus, and the more wine he drank the more he felt the sharp desire to be close to Icarus. His gaze kept fixing on Icarus’ lips; would he feel Icarus’ smile if he kissed him? What would it be like to  entangle his fingers in Icarus’ dark hair and pull him in close? What sort of things did Icarus like? They had never talked of girls, or boys. Icarus always changed the subject on the few rare occasions Pythagoras brought it up. He had no idea what Icarus liked, who he favored…

Icarus caught him staring and giggled at him. “What are you looking at me like that for?” he asked, raising the bottle to his lips again.

“You look very nice,” Pythagoras said brilliantly. He gestured to his own face vaguely. “Your eyes sparkle… celestially.”

Icarus nearly spat wine in Pythagoras’ face laughing. “My eyes sparkle celestially?” he repeated with bemusement. He looked down at the bottle. “How much of this have you had?”

“No, no, I mean it,” Pythagoras protested. He grinned drunkenly at Icarus. “I consider you more than just a friend. You’re so sweet, and fun. Seeing you is the best part of my day.”

Icarus’ smile widened a fraction, and he bit his lip. “I think you’ve had enough festivities,” he said. He hooked his arm under Pythagoras’ and turned them back towards the workshop. “I bet you wouldn’t say these things if you hadn’t had most of a bottle of wine.”

Pythagoras frowned at him, his lower lip protruding in a pout. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you all night,” he informed Icarus, as though that proved he was well enough to continue wandering through the festival. Icarus raised his eyebrows at him, and Pythagoras nodded matter-of-factly. “It’s true,” he said. He giggled. “You make me think the most illogical things, you know?”

Icarus shook his head, dropping his gaze and chuckling. “I do, do I?” he said. They turned off the Sacred Way, and Pythagoras could see the candle in his bedroom window glistening softly. He looked back at Icarus and bobbed his head in a nod. Icarus looked bemused. “I’m never letting you drink again,” he said. He opened the door to the workshop.

It took him a while to get Pythagoras up the stairs. The wine made everything look blurry in Pythagoras’ vision, and he stumbled more than once trying to climb up the steps to his room. When he finally got there he collapsed onto his bed, looking up at Icarus and giggling. “That was fun,” he chuckled. “We should do it again.”

Icarus grinned ruefully. “You climbing the stairs, you mean?” he said teasingly, and Pythagoras covered his face with his hands to hide his bright red cheeks. Icarus sat down on the side of the bed and began undoing the laces of Pythagoras’ sandals. “I had no idea wine made you so silly. You’re going to be mortified by all the things you said in the morning.”

Pythagoras stopped laughing and looked at Icarus. His lips curved down into a frown. “I meant it,” he said softly. He wanted to be serious, wanted Icarus to know that he hadn’t been lying or joking about what he’d said. “Every word of it.”

Icarus glanced at him, his grin fading to a gentle smile. He nodded his head and started undoing Pythagoras’ other sandal. “So does that mean you also meant your rant about how triangles can become hexagons if you cross your eyes hard enough?” he asked.

Pythagoras dropped his head back onto his pillow and laughed, shaking his head. “Noooooo,” he groaned, covering his face again. “Not that part. Just what I said about you.”

“And my celestial eyes?”

“Did I say that?” Pythagoras didn’t think he could feel more embarrassed than he already did.

“You did.”

He could, apparently. He let out another groan and peeked through his fingers. Icarus was smiling at him, a mixture of amusement and affection in his eyes. He wanted to kiss him. Pythagoras tried to sit, and swayed dangerously to one side. Perhaps he’d had too much to drink after all. Icarus caught him with a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down.

“How about you get some sleep,” Icarus said. “You’re going to have the worst headache when you wake up, so enjoy the good feeling now while you can.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Pythagoras’ temple, soft and gentle as a summer breeze. Pythagoras closed his eyes and sighed as Icarus snuffed out his candle and tiptoed out of his room, closing the door quietly behind him. Pythagoras opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above him. He sighed again.

The morning was going to be awful.

 

 


	6. Book V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Pythagoras struggles to return things to the way they were with Icarus, he discovers that his feelings might not be as unreciprocated as he thought.

Pythagoras woke up to a throbbing headache and an overwhelming sense of regret building up in his stomach. He groaned, clutching at his temple and rolling over to avoid the morning sun shining in his eyes.He’d never had a headache so painful in his life. “I am never drinking again,” he grumbled. His mind tried to recall what it could of the previous night. He remembered bits and pieces; he remembered walking along the Sacred Way, remembered Icarus’ shy smile and his arm looped around Pythagoras’ back to support him as they walked home. He remembered Icarus’ lips pressed against his temple. The good parts, at least, he could remember.

But he also remembered confessing to Icarus how his feelings for him were far more than that of two friends. He groaned again at the memory of it.  He’d never been so embarrassed in his life, even the thought of what he said made him shudder with mortified humiliation. How could he look Icarus in the face after what he’d said? How could Icarus look him in the face?

His question was answered by a knock on his door, and a moment later Icarus appearing with his hands laden with food and the largest cup of water Pythagoras had ever seen. Icarus smiled sheepishly at him and placed the items on Pythagoras’ desk. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly. He didn’t look entirely certain about how to act, and his hands moved from his sides to clasped in front of him to brushing through his dark curls in the time it took Pythagoras to sit up in bed.

Pythagoras winced. “My head feels as though bees have made a hive in it,” he said with a grimace. “But I’ll be alright.” He looked at Icarus anxiously. “Look, about what I said last night…”

Icarus waved him off. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly. “Everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re drunk.” He glanced at Pythagoras, holding his gaze a fraction longer than was usual, and quickly looked away when he realized what he’d been doing. “I should get back to work,” he said quickly, and just like that he hurried through the door and out of Pythagoras’ sight.

Pythagoras just stared at the door, mouth hanging open in stunned, confused silence.

It took a while for things to start to feel normal again. Icarus kept his distance for the next two days, making his trips to the market on his own and taking as many of Daedalus’ errands as he could. Pythagoras couldn’t focus on his triangles at all, and even Daedalus noticed how distracted he was.

“What’s going on with you, Pythagoras?” he demanded with a hint of agitation as Pythagoras stared at his blank paper. Pythagoras looked up at him with surprise. “You’ve hardly done anything for days, not since the festival. What happened?”

Pythagoras moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I told someone something I maybe shouldn’t have,” he said slowly. “And now I think maybe things are going to be strange between us forever.”

Daedalus nodded slowly. “And have you talked to this person about what you said?” he prompted.

Pythagoras shook his head. “I tried, but he left before we could,” he said. He sighed and put down his charcoal. “Love is hard, Daedalus. It’s difficult and completely illogical.”

Daedalus smiled and shook his head. “On the contrary,” he said, raising a finger at Pythagoras. “Love is the easiest thing there is. Nothing else will explain the irrational man as rationally as love.”

Pythagoras smiled, and tried his best to return to his work. In truth, nothing took his mind off Icarus better than work, and by the time Icarus got back from his errand Pythagoras was completely immersed in his theorem. They ate dinner together as usual, and Pythagoras tried to keep his eyes from wandering to Icarus.

It took two more days for things to feel as though they were normal again. Pythagoras woke to Icarus tapping him on the arm to wake him for their trip to the market, and a wave of relief swept through him as their routine was reestablished. Icarus said very little, but his eyes moved constantly between his surroundings and Pythagoras, as if judging every little action he made for some sort of significance or indication. When they returned home and began their work, Icarus’ foot resumed its normal position resting against Pythagoras’ leg, where it slowly tapped as he worked. A light blush crept up Pythagoras’ cheeks at the contact, and when he looked at Icarus he caught a flash of a satisfied smirk.

By dinner it was as if the festival had never happened. Daedalus talked, and Icarus joked right along with him, making faces at Pythagoras when his father was not looking and glancing at him conspiratorially. Pythagoras felt himself truly relaxing again; perhaps he and Icarus could move on after all, and the whole thing would simply pass. But while he was glad to have his friend back to normal, Pythagoras couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment in his chest. Icarus knew how he felt, knew of Pythagoras’ feelings for him. It had been a fool’s hope to believe something could be between them, and yet he had hoped all the same.

Daedalus cleared his throat at Pythagoras, and Pythagoras looked up at him quickly. Daedalus raised his brows. “Something interesting rattling around in that head of yours?” he prompted.

Pythagoras flushed. “Sorry, Daedalus,” he said apologetically, ducking his head. “I was daydreaming.”

“Oh?” Daedalus’ eyes flashed for an instant to his son. “About what?”

“Triangles,” Icarus said before Pythagoras could answer. Pythagoras grinned, looking up to meet Icarus’ eyes. They were bright with mischief along with his conspiratorial grin. Pythagoras looked away quickly. Icarus’ smile was intoxicating as always, but something had changed in it. There was a softness behind his eyes that had not always been there, and when Pythagoras saw it he felt as though warm lightning poured through his veins like wine. They were no longer the gangly boys they’d been as children, but young men. For so long it had not seemed to matter much. Pythagoras had been dedicated to his studies, had not noticed until then, but Icarus… perhaps it had mattered to Icarus. The glances that passed between them were always fleeting when it came to Pythagoras, out of fear that Icarus would notice him looking, but Icarus always lingered, absorbing all he could with his wide brown eyes.

The thought followed him throughout the rest of dinner. He’d never put much thought in the way Icarus looked at him until then. More and more he glanced up at Icarus and found his gaze matched, and each time his eyes met Icarus’ he would flush and look down hastily. The fourth time he glanced up again, and saw Icarus’ lips curve upwards in a smirk, satisfaction flickering in his dark eyes. He kicked him under the table.

Daedalus made a face, and his gaze swiveled to Pythagoras. He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just kick me?” he asked.

Pythagoras’ face turned bright red. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, and he fixed his attention securely on his bowl. He heard Icarus trying to muffle his laughter in a series of coughs, but Daedalus didn’t believe a single bit of it. He tapped his son on the back of the head.

“That’s enough from you,” he said scornfully.

“Sorry.” Icarus glanced at Pythagoras with a grin before turning back to his bowl, and they ate the remainder of their meal in silence until Daedalus stood.

“I’ll be in the workshop,” he told them, glaring at his son and offering Pythagoras a cursory glance. “Icarus, clean the dishes.”

Icarus nodded, already reaching for the bowls on the table. “Yes, Father.” He brushed hands with Pythagoras as he took his bowl, and once again his lips curved upwards in a smile. Daedalus noticed, or perhaps it was just a reaction to his son in general, but he huffed, muttering something under his breath as he shuffled to his workshop. Icarus turned back to Pythagoras and grinned. His smile faded a little at the look on Pythagoras’ face. “Are you alright?” he asked slowly. “He’s not going to hold you kicking him against you for long, he’ll forget the second he thinks of a new invention--”

Pythagoras shook his head quickly. “I just have a lot of work to do,” he said, perhaps a little too fast as he stood up. He smiled at Icarus, hoping that the blush in his cheeks was not too noticeable. The glimmer in Icarus’ eyes told him it was. “I’m going to go do some work, do you mind?”

Icarus shook his head and shrugged, piling the rest of the dishes into his hands. “Not at all.” He brushed Pythagoras’ forearm with his hand, smiling. “I’ll come talk to you later perhaps.”

Pythagoras nodded and hurried to the stairs, glancing once more back at Icarus. His head bent over the table, his dark hair falling into his face. In the candlelight his skin looked almost gold. Pythagoras shook his head quickly and practically ran up the stairs.

His room was at the end of the hall, still dimly lit with the light of the dying sun. Pythagoras closed the door to his room and sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool wood. The skin where Icarus’ hand had brushed still burned, and his heart pounded in his chest as though he’d run across the city. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and sighed again before turning to his desk. Work was something that could usually distract him, and he settled at his desk and began to draw.

He was productive enough for a while, but as the wax began to drip down the candle onto the table he found himself less focused on triangles. His drawings became scribbles, and he frowned down at his paper. He’d drawn an eye, Icarus’ eye to be specific. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face with agitation. “Get out of my head,” he grumbled, and turned the paper over. His charcoal hovered over the paper for a whole minute before he gave up trying and crawled into bed. He stared up at the ceiling. He should just _talk_ to Icarus, get it all out in the open… but no, that would be foolish. Their friendship had been the only thing that had made Atlantis start to feel like home, and he wouldn’t risk that, not when things had just gotten back to normal. He couldn’t risk that. Pythagoras sighed and rolled over on his bed, begging for sleep to come soon before he drove himself mad with thoughts of Icarus.

His door creaked open, and Pythagoras rolled over to see Icarus tiptoeing into his room, closing the door as quietly as he could behind him. “Icarus, what…?” he began, his brows knitting together in confusion.

Icarus’ face was wide in a grin as he bounced to Pythagoras’ bed, dropping down beside him. “There’s a whole cosmos outside that window just _waiting_ for us to see!” he whispered eagerly, pointing to Pythagoras’ window. He shook his shoulder with another wild grin. “Come watch the stars with me. Please?”

Pythagoras feigned irritation at the request, but his heart secretly soared in his chest as Icarus pulled him from bed and to the window. Icarus opened the window wide and slid out onto the roof, putting out his hand to pull Pythagoras through after him. They tiptoed along the shingles and settled on the flat segment of the roof, sitting down and turning their faces to the sky.

As they sat staring up at the stars above them, Pythagoras couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so completely at peace as he did then. Icarus named the constellations eagerly, pointing them out with one hand while the other slowly played with the bracelet on Pythagoras’ wrist. Pythagoras stole glances at him more than he did at the stars, a slow smile creeping onto his face. He slid his fingers between Icarus’, and he could see the edge of Icarus’ mouth curve upwards as he continued to rattle off constellations, not stopping his list as he stroked the top of Pythagoras’ hand with his thumb. They traced the heavens with their fingertips, watching as the moon slowly rose above them.

It wasn’t strange when Icarus bent across Pythagoras so he could gesture to a star just on the horizon, and not strange when he turned his head too close to Pythagoras’ face, so they were right next to each other. Pythagoras could feel Icarus’ warm breath on his cheek, and see the way Icarus’ eyes lingered too long on him, quiet and so hopelessly _wanting_ , but not brave enough to speak. Pythagoras held his breath and turned to face Icarus. Their lips met gently at first, pressing against each other softly just to know how it felt, before Icarus’ hand cupped his cheek, and Pythagoras’ fingers curled into Icarus’ tunic to pull him closer.

It was hard to think it was ever that easy, to just lean forward and kiss someone. Pythagoras’ heart filled with a wild elation as Icarus pressed into him. If it had been anyone else, Pythagoras never would have done something so bold. But something about Icarus felt safe, and right, and most importantly real. He wasn’t a fantasy, he wasn’t an epic hero or someone larger than life, he was just Icarus, his Icarus. The scratch of his stubble and his rough hands and his gentle, laughing eyes were familiar, and yet intoxicatingly new to him now.

They pulled apart after a while, when neither of them had the breath to continue. Pythagoras’ lips curled into a smile, and Icarus beamed back at him. They leaned back on the roof in a tangle of legs and arms and elbows, and Pythagoras rested his head against Icarus’ chest. Sleep was easy then, perhaps the easiest thing Pythagoras had ever done. The soft drumming of Icarus’ heart played in his ear like a lullaby. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Icarus. There was nothing to be said that they didn’t already know.

* * *

 

Waking up was pleasant and gloriously slow. Pythagoras opened his eyes slowly to Icarus’ sleepy grin. It was strange to wake up so close to Icarus, but any apprehension he had about waking up tangled in Icarus’ arms was erased as Icarus pulled him closer, placing a sleepy kiss on Pythagoras’ cheek. “Morning,” he mumbled. His smile was happy, easy, and the most wonderful thing Pythagoras could dream of. Except it wasn’t a dream for once.

Pythagoras smiled back at him. “Good morning.” He pressed his lips to Icarus’, marveling in the small surprised intake of breath from Icarus. After a moment he pulled away, and Icarus moved with him for a second, his lips still curled in a smile. Pythagoras pushed himself into a sitting position. Daedalus would notice they were missing soon enough, and he was not at all fond of the idea of being discovered on the roof. “We should go inside before…”

Icarus touched Pythagoras’ shoulder gently. “He won’t miss us for a little while longer,” he promised. His eyes fixed on Pythagoras, hopeful and begging for him to come back to his side. “It’s barely past dawn. Stay.”

Pythagoras sighed, not out of frustration, but because it was so easy for Icarus to get him, and curled up beside him again. Icarus’ arm draped across his narrow chest, and his lips pressed against Pythagoras’ temple. “I never want to leave this roof,” Icarus murmured, his breath barely a whisper as he curled against Pythagoras.

Pythagoras glanced up at him. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to leave either. Knowing Icarus felt the same way about him had lifted a burden from his chest, and lying with him below the open sky he’d never felt more free in his life. But he was always the more rational one. “We’ll have to eventually,” he said truthfully. Icarus’ eyebrows raised a little, and he looked disappointed. Pythagoras pressed his lips to Icarus’ chin, dashing the sadness away. “But we don’t have to give this up.”

Icarus nodded. “Promise?”

Pythagoras nodded. Their hands reached for each other, and their fingers entwined so tightly it felt the gods themselves couldn’t break their hold on each other. “Promise.”

Daedalus’ voice carried from inside the house, shaking them from their Elysium and dragging them back to the real world. Pythagoras flushed, offering Icarus a bashful smile while Icarus rolled his eyes. They crawled back down the roof to Pythagoras’ window. Pythagoras climbed back in first, pausing at the windowsill as Icarus followed him through. He turned and pressed his lips once more to Icarus’. Icarus’ face lit up in a smile bright as the sun, and Pythagoras returned the expression. _Let it be like this_ , he wished silently as Icarus tiptoed out the door back to his own room. _Let us keep this one thing._

 

 


	7. Book VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally seem to be turning around for Pythagoras as his relationship with Icarus grows.

And for a while it felt like they could. Daedalus in the house made things difficult, but they were smart, and found ways to avoid their guardian’s watchful gaze. Pythagoras was always more subtle; he brushed his hand across Icarus’ reaching across the table, rested his hands on Icarus’ shoulders to watch him work, pressed his leg against Icarus’ at dinner. Icarus was more bold than he was, unafraid to steal kisses from Pythagoras the instant Daedalus left the room, or pull him into a dark corner of the house with a mischievous grin.

Several times Daedalus almost caught them together. He left the table after dinner one night, claiming he had to return to work, and left them to clean up after dinner as he always did. Icarus dropped the dishes he’d been collecting nearly the second Daedalus rounded the corner, pulling Pythagoras from his seat.

“Your father’s going to catch us,” Pythagoras whispered, glancing towards the hall. He could still hear Daedalus’ footsteps as he wandered around the workshop. “If he sees us--”

“He’s not going to see us,” Icarus said carelessly. He pulled Pythagoras’ lips to his. “Stop worrying.”

Pythagoras sighed, unable to stop a grin from curling up his lips. Would Daedalus really even care? Icarus didn’t seem to think so, and yet Pythagoras couldn’t stop himself from worrying. But Icarus pressed him gently against the edge of the table, his hands trailing from Pythagoras’ shoulders down to his waist, and it didn’t seem to matter whether Daedalus would care or not. Things never seemed to matter when Icarus was around. Pythagoras wrapped his arms around Icarus’ neck and pulled him in closer.

“Pythagoras? Icarus?” Daedalus’ footsteps grew alarmingly louder. Pythagoras and Icarus jumped back from each other, breathless and flushing bright red. Icarus started to grab dishes, stacking them in a sloppy pile that tilted in his arms. Pythagoras turned in a circle, searching for something to grab or do before Daedalus rounded the corner. He grabbed a fork just as Daedalus entered the room again, and clutched it to his chest as he turned.

“Have you seen the…?” Daedalus said, his eyes on a drawing of an invention in his hands. His gaze went up, then down, then up again. He paused. Pythagoras held his breath as Icarus put on his most innocent smile.

“T-the what?” Pythagoras prompted. Could Daedalus see the heat in his face? He’d never felt so completely mortified than he did looking at Daedalus. His lips felt swollen and red from Icarus. Daedalus could tell, he must be able to just looking at them. What would he do? Would he be upset, or angry? Pythagoras tried to force himself to breath, though it felt as though his lungs were filled with stones.

But Daedalus just shook his head, glancing between them slowly. “I can’t remember,” he finally said. He looked back down at his drawing and waved a hand at them. “Carry on.” He turned and walked back to the workshop.

Pythagoras turned slowly and looked at Icarus. He started to giggle. Icarus rolled his eyes and grinned. “Put that fork down and get over here.”

Pythagoras dropped the fork on the table and practically crashed into Icarus, dragging at his tunic and suppressing his laughter in Icarus’ lips. Icarus pulled him in close and traced Pythagoras’ lower lip eagerly with his tongue. Pythagoras felt a rush of excitement, like a thousand little strings pulling him towards Icarus. He never wanted to stop, just keep going with Icarus like they had all the time in the world.

“Oh, I’ve just remembered!” Daedalus’ voice drifted in, and the sound of his footsteps grew closer.

Icarus rolled his eyes and pulled away from Pythagoras again. “Hippolyta’s girdle,” he swore, picking up his pile of dishes again. “There will be no peace in this house, will there?”

Pythagoras grinned and let his hand linger on the small of Icarus’ back until Daedalus was nearly in the room. “Not down here at least.”

At night Icarus tiptoed down the hall, and together they’d crawl out onto the roof through Pythagoras’ window and watch the stars. It wasn’t much, but it was enough just to look at one another, and seek comfort and pleasure when they needed it. Pythagoras wished he could spend every second with Icarus, and watch the warmth growing in Icarus’ eyes. It was a sight he would never tire of, like the rest of Icarus. The way his eyes lit up around Pythagoras, the way his breath hitched when Pythagoras pressed his lips to his jaw, the way he brushed his fingers against every part of Pythagoras he could reach when they were alone, and even sometimes when they were not.

They were in the market one particularly warm afternoon, following after Daedalus as he selected various things from the vendors for his latest experiment. Icarus snagged a plum from a passing cart and passed it to Pythagoras with a conspiratorial grin. Pythagoras grinned back and took a bite, wiping at the juice that ran down his chin before passing the fruit back to Icarus. Icarus took a bite, glancing around at the busy market around them. No one paid them any heed; they were just two boys among hundreds, trailing after Daedalus in the crowd. Icarus took another bite of the plum and casually hooked fingers with Pythagoras. Pythagoras glanced at him.

“Someone will see us,” he hissed, quietly as he could. “Your father is _right there_ …”

Icarus shrugged boldly, taking another bite of the plum before passing it back to Pythagoras. “Let them see.” He grinned at Pythagoras, plum juice running down his chin and his eyes bright and wild, and Pythagoras found himself relaxing. _No one would care_ , he told himself. He and Icarus kept walking. After a while the pressure in his chest seemed to fade, and he was overcome with a shocking feeling of relief he hadn’t known he had been missing. No one pointed at them, there was no whispering behind their hands at the sight of them. They were just two among a crowd, holding onto each other like a hundred other couples in the market. Pythagoras glanced over at Icarus and beamed. Icarus grinned right back and entwined the rest of his fingers with Pythagoras’.

Daedalus glanced back at them when they’d almost reached the workshop again. His eyebrows went up a fraction, but he did not seem surprised. “I wish to work in silence,” he told them, his gaze as usual fixing on Icarus. “Which I cannot do with you two kicking each other and giggling like children.”

Icarus beamed at his father and glanced at Pythagoras. “That’s alright, Father,” he said, already backing towards the Sacred Way again. “Pythagoras and I will find something else to do.”

Daedalus huffed at him and raised his eyebrows at Pythagoras. Pythagoras smiled as innocently as he could at him, though it was obvious Daedalus could see right through the look. But they hurried back down the street before he could stop them, hands entwined and laughing like fools as they ran.

They spent the rest of the day at the beach, splashing each other and searching the tide pools for shells. It was glorious to be able to look at Icarus without needing to hide, and Pythagoras reveled in the newfound freedom. They flopped onto the shore together, and Icarus propped himself up on his elbow so he could look Pythagoras in the eye. His dark curls were slick with water, and little droplets would fall every time he moved onto Pythagoras’ neck. They grinned at each other.

Icarus’ fingers traced Pythagoras’ collarbone slowly, from his shoulder to the base of his neck. “I never thought I could be this happy,” he said softly. His finger traced back along Pythagoras’ collarbone. He met Pythagoras’ gaze and smiled. “I thought I was happy before, but not like this. Had I known this was what I was missing…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

Pythagoras pushed himself up and kissed Icarus. It still seemed to surprise Icarus when Pythagoras kissed him first, but he was quick to respond. His hand traced down Pythagoras’ side and across his chest. His hand paused on a thin scar that snaked along Pythagoras’ ribs. He pulled away to look at it.

“How’d you get this?” he asked softly.

Pythagoras dropped his head back onto the sand. “I got it protecting my brother Arcus,” he said, squinting as he tried to remember. “It was a rod, I think. Or perhaps it was a fishing hook, I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.” He brushed his fingertips along Icarus’ leg, making him shiver. “You have one here,” he said before Icarus could say anything else about his scar. He could already see the empathy and pity there ripe as berries in Icarus’ gaze. He didn’t want to linger on unpleasant times, not with Icarus. Not when things were so good. “How’d you get it?”

Icarus glanced down at the scar. “Oh, that one,” he said, his lips curling up in a smile. “That one I got falling off the roof. I was trying to climb up to where we stargaze, and I slipped right off, fell two stories down and hit a cart. Snapped my leg like a twig, got this scar from whatever I hit going down. That’s why Father gave me a room that has such a small window; I used to live in yours before then.”

Pythagoras shook his head at him. “That’s ridiculous,” he said with a bemused smile. Icarus grinned at him. Pythagoras’ smile softened as he looked into Icarus’ eyes. He would tell Icarus anything he asked, he would tell him everything. He trusted Icarus, completely and without hesitation, and he could see in Icarus’ eyes that he felt the same. He leaned forward and pulled Icarus to him. Icarus’ lips were still curved in a smile when Pythagoras pulled away, and he raised his eyebrows.

“What was that for?” he asked softly.

Pythagoras smiled. He loved Icarus because he was Icarus, and because he looked at him in that way he’d always wanted to be looked at, with love and wonder and pure happiness that someone was looking at them the same way. And Pythagoras wanted to say it, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, that he, Pythagoras, a boy who had never thought he would be loved, was in love, and that Icarus was in love with him. “I…” He hesitated. Perhaps it was a twinge of fear in the back of his head that spoke in his mother’s voice, saying that no one could ever love him, that stopped him, or the chance that Icarus did not feel quite as strongly about him as Pythagoras felt, and if he spoke the illusion would be shattered. But the words died on his lips, and he shook his head. “I-I’m glad we met.”

Icarus smiled and kissed him again. Pythagoras shrugged away the twinge of guilt that he had not said what he’d meant to. After all, he reasoned, there would be other times to tell Icarus. They had all the time in the world.

 

 


	8. Book VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News from the Oracle throws Icarus' life into turmoil as he is asked to make an impossible choice between the boy he loves and his destiny.

“Boys, we’re going to be late!” Daedalus’ voice carried up the stairs. Pythagoras rolled over and yawned. Icarus shifted lazily beside him, his dark hair falling like a curtain over his eyes.

Pythagoras touched Icarus’ shoulder. “Icarus,” he mumbled. Icarus groaned. “Come on, Icarus, it’s a big day.”

Icarus sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He nodded sleepily at Pythagoras. “Right. Big day.” He climbed out of Pythagoras’ bed and looked around for his sandals. “Where did I put…?”

Pythagoras pointed. “By the window.”

“Ah.” Icarus walked over to the window and opened it wide, taking a deep breath of the cool morning air. Today was important, today was special. Today was the day they went with Daedalus to the temple of the Oracle, to see if he was the great mind the king of Crete had been looking for to construct his labyrinth. It was the most important day in Daedalus’ career, certainly, and Pythagoras and Icarus had promised to go with him to the temple. They pulled on their sandals quickly, and paused by Pythagoras’ door to ensure that the other looked presentable. Pythagoras tamed Icarus’ dark curls into a less manic mess, and Pythagoras tugged the sides of Pythagoras’ shirt so that they were even. They smiled at each other, and Icarus pecked Pythagoras on the lips before they opened the door and trotted down the stairs.

Daedalus was waiting impatiently at the bottom of the steps when they came down, his foot tapping with nervous anticipation. He shot a glare at them. “Before the sun sets,” he said, and started towards the door. Icarus grinned at Pythagoras and linked hands with him.

There was nothing but silence as they walked up the Sacred Way to the temple of the Oracle. The anxiety seemed to come off of Daedalus in unrelenting waves, and not even Icarus seemed to think that their usual morning bickering matches would ease the tension. They climbed the steps, and there was a devotee waiting to take them down to the Oracle’s private temple.

She was sitting on the floor when they entered, a bowl in front of her and incense filling the air with a thick, fragrant fog. She was older than Pythagoras had expected, with her pale hair covered by her hood, and her callous hands marked with strange symbols. Her palms were open to the sky, and her head bowed so Pythagoras could barely see her face.

The devotee stopped Icarus and Pythagoras at the bottom of the stairs and beckoned for Daedalus to step forward. Daedalus did, and moved to stand before the Oracle.

“Daedalus,” she said, her voice soft and serene like reeds. She beckoned for him to sit before her. He obeyed quickly, and she held her hands out to him. “You wish to build the labyrinths of Crete?”

Daedalus nodded his head slowly. “Yes.”

The Oracle reached into her bowl and held up the bones of an animal. She dropped them again in the bowl, watching them fall and spin before settling. She pursed her lips. “The gods have great plans for you, Daedalus,” she said, looking up at him. “But building the labyrinths of Crete is not in your future.”

Daedalus bowed his head. Icarus stepped forward, ignoring the agitated hiss of the devotee, and put his hands on his father’s shoulders. “It will be the ugliest labyrinth, then,” he said softly into Daedalus’ ear. Daedalus’ lips twitched in a gruff smile. Icarus glanced at the Oracle, who was staring at him. He smiled hesitantly. “You’re sure it’s not him?” he asked.

The Oracle nodded. “Icarus, isn’t it?” Icarus nodded. The Oracle beckoned for him to sit. “Let me read you.”

Icarus looked quickly at Daedalus. Daedalus nodded and moved aside. Icarus kneeled before the Oracle and looked at her anxiously.

She lifted the bones from her bowl and threw them again. She studied them for a long time, her head tilting slowly from one side to another. She finally looked up at Icarus, then down at the bones again. “I will throw them again to be sure.” And she did. The bones scattered in the bowl like hollow thunder. Pythagoras’ stomach felt unnaturally tight as she leaned in to stare at the bones again. He wished she would just speak; Icarus’ shoulders trembled more and more the longer she made them wait, and even patient Daedalus shifted as he watched her.

At last she looked up at them, and there was confused wonder in her eyes. “It is you who will build the labyrinths of Crete,” she said softly. “They will be of your design and creation, Icarus.”

Icarus let out a sigh like a hurricane and just stared at her. “Me?” he demanded, his voice small. “But I’m not-- my father’s--”

“Your father’s never been more proud of you in his life.” Daedalus stared at his son with more pride in his eyes than Pythagoras had ever seen there before, and pulled him into his arms. Icarus hugged him hesitantly, still staring at the Oracle. His eyes went to Pythagoras over Daedalus’ shoulder.

“I can’t leave.”

Pythagoras stepped forward. “Of course you can,” he said softly. The words felt like knives in his throat. “This is the chance of a lifetime; you should take it. Besides,” he added, crouching beside Icarus on the cold floor. He smiled hesitantly. “I’ll be able to come and visit you… won’t I?” He looked at the Oracle for confirmation. _Please_ , he begged silently. _Please say yes._

The Oracle pursed her lips. She shook her head, and Pythagoras felt as though she’d slammed a door in his face. “You cannot, I’m afraid,” she said. She gestured to the bones before her. “I see Icarus’ future in these readings, but I see yours as well.” Pythagoras’ heart leapt into his throat. “Your fate is tied to Atlantis in a way I cannot explain. But you must stay. Whether Icarus goes is up to him, but you must remain in Atlantis.”

Pythagoras felt completely stunned. He wanted to jump to his feet and stand up against the Oracle. “You cannot decide my fate” he wanted to shout at her. “If Icarus goes, I follow.” But he couldn’t; he could barely bring himself to look her in the eye. Icarus shifted beside him.

“I can’t leave,” he repeated again.

The Oracle looked disappointed. “Consider this choice carefully, Icarus,” she advised. Her eyes darted to Daedalus for an instant. “Whether you go or not will change everything.” She motioned for them to stand as she rose to her feet. She was almost a head taller than Pythagoras, but she didn’t seem as intimidating standing as she did kneeling over her bones. “Tomorrow morning my priest Melas will be traveling to Crete to bring my decision on the architect of the labyrinth. He will stop by your workshop then for your decision, and if you decide to go, for you.”

“How long would I be gone?” Icarus asked softly.

The Oracle shook her head. “I do not know,” she admitted. “It could be a year, it could be five. But it would not be forever.”

Daedalus nodded. “Thank you,” he said when Icarus didn’t speak. “We will give your man our decision in the morning.” He pulled Icarus up beside him and started to lead him towards the stairs, where the devotee waited with a somewhat agitated expression for them. Pythagoras lingered, looking up at the Oracle once more.

“Why do I have to stay in Atlantis?” he asked, when Daedalus and Icarus were out of earshot. “I could help Icarus, I could go with him…”

The Oracle shook her head. “Icarus’ future is a complicated one,” she told him. “First he must rise, and build the labyrinth. Your future is much different from his. It is entwined with others, ones who will shape Atlantis into something great.”

Pythagoras bit his lip and looked down at his hands. “But we’re happy. Why isn’t that enough of a future?” He looked up at her again, and she smiled sympathetically at him.

“One day a man will come to Atlantis,” she said. “And he will change everything for you. Things you never thought possible will become reality. But you cannot meet this man if you are in Crete. You cannot help him rise if you are not here.”

Pythagoras frowned. “ _Icarus_ is that man,” he said defiantly. “He’s changed everything for me--”

“He has changed much for you,” the Oracle agreed. “But your journey does not end here, Pythagoras. There’s so much more for you to still do.” She looked after Daedalus and Icarus, whose footsteps were nothing but echoes. “You must consider what is good for Icarus too. Not just for his heart, and not just for yours.” She reached out and touched his hand. Her fingers felt as cold and dry as the bones she’d thrown. “You are meant for greatness, Pythagoras, unlike any you have imagined. It is your destiny to help Atlantis rise, but for it you must be here.”

“Can’t I at least visit him?” Pythagoras asked softly. “Not forever, just visit…”

The Oracle smiled. “My powers tell me much,” she said, taking her hand from his and placing it on the edge of the bowl. “But I do not know when your time shall come. But powers or not,” she continued, looking at Pythagoras. “I know that if you went to Crete for Icarus, you would not come back.”

Pythagoras’ mouth went dry. He dropped his gaze from the Oracle’s and turned, following Icarus and Daedalus’ path blindly. They had paused, waiting for him at the top of the stairs. “What did she say?” Icarus whispered when he joined them. His eyes were wide and uncertain, and the carefree happiness that was so often there was gone like the light on a snuffed out candle.

Pythagoras shook his head. “Nothing.”

They did not talk the whole way back to the workshop. Daedalus lead the way home in a slow, defeated pace, deep in thought as he walked. Icarus wouldn’t look at either of them, and shied away from Pythagoras’ attempt to take his hand as they walked. It was like Icarus was already gone, and the one that remained was a shell of the boy, a shade of the real Icarus. Pythagoras’ mind was as raging as a storm the whole walk back. He knew what he should say, he knew exactly what it was he had to do. And yet could he? Could he give Icarus up, and sacrifice the life they had built up together? Could he sacrifice the happiness he felt for him? They would both be miserable, he tried to reason. Icarus had said himself that he’d never been happier than when they were together. He couldn’t ask him to leave.

And yet…

They sat down at the table as a family when they got home. For a while none of them said anything, just stared down at their hands. Pythagoras felt like they were all holding their breaths, waiting for one of them to break and speak.

It was Daedalus who shattered the silence. “You should go,” he said. Icarus looked up at him. “This will do amazing things for you, open up so many doors… the opportunities are limitless.”

Icarus lip trembled, and he looked to Pythagoras. Pythagoras didn’t want to say it. But he knew what Icarus needed to hear. “You should go,” he said softly, nodding his head. He glanced at Daedalus so he didn’t have to see the pain in Icarus’ eyes. “Like Daedalus said, this is an amazing chance…”

Icarus pushed himself from his seat and left before Pythagoras could finish, running from the room and vanishing up the stairs. Daedalus’ shoulders slumped, and a slow sigh escaped his lips. He didn’t look at Pythagoras, frozen in his seat with his mouth still parted in speech, before he rose from his seat. He pulled his bag from its hook by the door and left the house without another word. Pythagoras remained frozen for a moment longer, uncertain what to do. What _could_ he do? Icarus had to leave, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t true. He couldn’t bear the thought of it, and yet he could not make himself think about anything else.

A crash from upstairs brought him back to the reality of the situation, and Pythagoras’ gaze went up. He hurried up the stairs to Icarus’ room and found it half destroyed. Icarus sat in the middle of his scattered scrolls and possessions, his face red and broken as he cried. It was not a pretty thing to see, but Pythagoras heart felt as though it had shattered like a dropped vase on the floor with Icarus’ trinkets.

“Icarus…” he said softly, kneeling in front of Icarus gingerly.

Icarus looked up at him through his tears, pulling in a shaking breath. “I don’t want to leave you,” he cried, shaking his head. “It’s not fair, none of it’s fair--” He leaned into Pythagoras, curling his hands into fists in Pythagoras’ tunic. His whole body shook with anger and grief and bitterness, but what could Pythagoras say? There was nothing, he realized with a sinking in his chest; nothing he could say would make leaving easier. He pressed his lips into Icarus’ dark hair.

“It won’t be forever,” he said softly. The Oracle had promised them that, yet it still felt like a lie to him. “I’ll write you, I promise. And Daedalus can still come visit you…” He closed his eyes tight and drew in a deep breath. He would be strong for Icarus. He could be strong, and lock his feelings away. He drew in another breath and opened his eyes again. He kissed Icarus’ forehead, then his cheek. He kissed the tip of Icarus’ nose and the corner of his jaw. He trailed kisses across Icarus’ face, feeling Icarus’ shoulders slowly relax and droop. He always melted when Pythagoras touched him, and he pulled Pythagoras closer to him. He was afraid, and had never seemed so small in Pythagoras’ eyes as he did then. It was all he could do, to just hold him, and pray that things would work out.

Icarus pressed his forehead to Pythagoras’. “Will you stay with me tonight?” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “If this is our last night--” He drew in a shaking breath. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you.” Pythagoras pressed his lips gently to Icarus’. “Whatever you want, okay?”

Icarus nodded. “Let’s watch the stars,” he murmured. “One last time.”

Pythagoras nodded and smiled. Tears slid down from his cheeks and dropped into his lap. His heart was crumbled and shattered looking at Icarus, but it was like a horrible thing he couldn’t look away from. He was out of chances to say it, it was now or never. _I love you_ , his mind cried as he touched Icarus’ dark curls. _It doesn’t matter how far away you are; I’ll love you_. He smiled softly and pulled himself to his feet. He put out a hand for Icarus. “One last time.”

* * *

 

Icarus dropped his final bag onto the back of the cart and turned back to his father and Pythagoras standing by the door. Pythagoras could see how hard he was trying not to cry, his lower lip twitching every few seconds as he gritted his teeth in determination. He walked to Daedalus first and put out a hand to him. Daedalus had returned late in the night, after Pythagoras had eased Icarus to sleep, and the two had barely even looked at each other that morning. “Father.”

Daedalus’ hands rested on Icarus’ shoulders, and he pressed his lips to his son’s temple. “May the gods be with you, my son,” he murmured. Icarus’ lips trembled, and Daedalus pulled him in for a rare hug. Icarus squeezed him tight, his breath hitching in his chest as he swallowed back his tears. Daedalus released him and ruffled his dark hair. “I will write to you,” he promised. “And I’ll visit you as soon as I can, and see the work you’ve done.”

Icarus nodded his head numbly. “And probably have a whole list of corrections for me to make,” he said with a weary smile.

Daedalus smiled. “There’s still a few things I have left to teach you.”

Icarus’ smile widened a fraction, though his lower lip quivered and his eyes seemed unnaturally bright. His gaze turned to Pythagoras.

They swept into each other’s arms like the tide, squeezing the other as tightly as they could. Icarus’ breath hitched in his chest, but he forced the tears back, blinking rapidly as he released Pythagoras. He leaned forward and pressed his lips once more to Pythagoras’, not caring that Daedalus was watching them, or that Melas cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly behind them. Pythagoras’ hand buried itself in Icarus’ dark hair, pulling him closer for as long as he could before Icarus was gone, retreating to the cart and brushing hastily at his eyes. They’d said their goodbyes, and he’d hoped that it would be enough to make the parting less painful. But nothing could have stopped the crushing pain he felt watching the cart bounce down the Sacred Way towards the gate of the city, carrying Icarus away from him forever. 


	9. Book VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras worries that Icarus has moved on without him when Icarus doesn't respond to his letters.

_Icarus,_

_It has been some weeks since you left, and I imagine this letter will just be reaching you long after I have already written you again. Daedalus and I are both well, though things have been much changed since your departure. The workshop is not the same without you there with me, and Daedalus’ normally high spirits have fallen somewhat. I decided it was time for me to find a place of my own where I could start afresh, and so I’ve moved into a small place closer to the edge of town, right by that bread vendor you and I always used to stop at. My new roommate is nowhere near as clean or kind as you, and while he eats and drinks everything in sight, he is rarely in the house, so I have some peace. It has yet to feel like home, but I believe eventually it will. The workshop does not feel like home without you there._

_I miss you. Please write to me._

_Yours always,_

_Pythagoras_

* * *

 

_Icarus,_

_It has been three months since you left when I am now writing you this letter, which will undoubtedly not arrive for some time yet. I imagine you will have gotten my first letter by now, and I hope to see a response from you arriving soon. I talked to Daedalus the other day, and he is anxious to hear from you as well. How is Crete? I hope it is to your liking, and that your work is enjoyable. I have heard it’s incredibly beautiful there. Perhaps one day I can see it with you._

_Hercules, my new companion, is quite the drunkard, as I’ve discovered. I should have expected it, since I found him in a tavern (which is more his home than our house), but I’ve taken to concealing my money under my floorboard, lest he take all my savings and spend them on wine. It is moments like these where I miss you the most. Everything seemed well with the world when I was with you._

_Write to me._

_Yours,_

_Pythagoras_

* * *

 

_Icarus,_

_I worry perhaps the letters you have sent have been lost, since I have not heard from you. Daedalus says he has heard very little, and the letters you write to him are brief and vague. I’m worried about you. Please write to me._

_Yours,_

_Pythagoras_

* * *

 

_Icarus,_

_I have not heard from you at all. Please write to me._

_Pythagoras_

* * *

 

_Icarus,_

_We have a new companion in the house. His name is Jason, he is a very strange man, but kind. And a hero; he killed the Minotaur (with a little aid from myself, and according to Hercules Jason would most certainly have perished without his “bravery and unparalleled skill”, though the only unparalleled skill Hercules seems to posses from my observations is the ability to consume everything in sight.), winning us the favor of King Minos (and the admiration of Princess Ariadne). I am glad to have Jason here; things are less lonely with him around. And with no progress on my theorem still I could use a lifting of spirits._

_If you’re trying to tell me something with this silence, I beg you to just tell me what it is in writing. I know you’re writing to Daedalus, so your letters are not being lost. I miss you. Please write back to me._

_Pythagoras_

* * *

 

_Icarus,_

_I tried to time this letter so it would arrive on the proper day, but I’ve never had much luck with calculating such things._

_Happy twentieth birth day._

_Pythagoras_

* * *

 

_Icarus,_

_I saw my brother for the first time since I left Samos. He finally knows the truth about my father, as do Jason and Hercules. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done telling them, but they (Jason and Hercules at least, Arcus took a little more time) didn’t treat me any differently. And it just made me think of you, and how much it meant to me that you and Daedalus took me in all those years ago. Seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?_

_I just wanted to say, or I suppose let you know, that no matter what we’re still family. Even if we don’t talk, or see each other, you’re my family._

_It’s pointless to ask you to write, perhaps, but please do. Six years is long enough, isn’t it?_

_Pythagoras_

* * *

 

_Icarus,_

_I spoke to your father. He wouldn’t say anything about you, and it just made me wonder if you were alright. I hope you are. It seems unlikely that you’re coming back to Atlantis after all this time. I cannot blame you, and if life in Crete is such that you don’t want to come back, then don’t. Crete is as good a place as any to start your life over. I think it’s time I start over here._

_ Pythagoras _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem weird to some of you that I've done this section like this, and I want to take a brief moment to explain why. As previously stated, this fic is a skeleton au, which follows some of the major plot points of the show. This gap covers everything from the beginning of the show to the midseason break of season 2, which is where next chapter picks up. Why have I done it like this? Because who really wants to read descriptions of episodes they've already seen that have nothing to do with the story? So I decided to do this part in letter format instead. These are not the only letters Pythagoras sent to Icarus over eight years, but these are the "important ones" I decided to have.


	10. Book IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected reunion brings Pythagoras' faded feelings back to the surface.

Eight years felt like a lifetime slipping by. Pythagoras settled into his life with Hercules, and tried his best to forget about Icarus. It wasn’t until Jason arrived in Atlantis that he thought it might be possible. The second Jason entered his life, things began to change. The house began to feel like a home to him, and some of that at least he owed to Jason. Suddenly he wasn’t alone at breakfast, wasn’t the only one dragging Hercules home from taverns. He had a friend, a companion, someone he could talk to about the things he’d kept to himself. Jason wasn’t Icarus, he wasn’t what Icarus had been to him, but he didn’t have to be. He was just _Jason_ , wonderful Jason. It was easy to fall in love with him.

But he was not the only one who thought so. It was strange that Pythagoras measured his life in the loss and gaining of love in the lives of his friends. He watched Jason fall for Ariadne, watched himself fall out of love with Jason, watched Hercules and Medusa go back and forth on their feelings before things had finally settled with them. But then Hercules lost Medusa, and Jason lost Ariadne, and for a while it was simply the three of them again, alone as bachelors with broken hearts in their little house.

Pythagoras thought Jason was mad when he volunteered them to go to Aegina with Ariadne and Telemon, but he agreed for not completely honest reasons. Aegina was close to Crete. It would be a day’s ride to visit Crete, and find Icarus in the city. There was a chance, for the first time in a long time, the slightest glimmer of hope that Icarus could come into his life again. When they rode out from Atlantis, Pythagoras left with a sense of tentative hope. Would Icarus be happy to see him? Would he be much changed, after eight years apart? Did he think of Pythagoras ever? Questions raged in his mind, the unstoppable hopefuls and hypotheticals as he played out their reunion in his mind. Sometimes Icarus was happy, other times angry, but it didn’t matter. Wanted or not, Pythagoras knew he had to see Icarus one last time, and say what he needed to so he could let him go. Eight years was a long time for unresolved questions, and Icarus owed him answers to at least some of them.

But they never made it to Aegina, and Pythagoras’ hopes were dashed. There wasn’t time for him to be disappointed, not until they returned to Atlantis, and Ariadne’s life was saved by Jason and the Oracle. Those days were dark ones, filled with fear for Ariadne and concern for Jason. The three of them moved from waiting around in their house to waiting in the halls of the palace for news, and when it came that Ariadne would be alright things felt like they would settle again. Pythagoras spent his time by Jason’s side with Hercules, keeping an eye on their fragile companion and quietly making sure he kept up his strength.

But after an hour of watching Jason pace about in the hall outside Ariadne’s room, Pythagoras decided it would be best to give him some space. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and looked at Jason. “I’m going to get some food for us,” he announced. Jason barely glanced at him, just nodded his head and continued to pace. Pythagoras raised his eyebrows at Hercules and wound his way through the halls of the palace until he was in the city again. It was nearly dusk, and most people had cleared from the streets for the evening. Pythagoras walked without any idea of where he was going, just letting his feet carry him where they pleased as he let his mind wander elsewhere. There was much on his mind, it was difficult to focus on just one thing. He worried for Jason, as it seemed he always did, and for Ariadne’s recovery to continue without further trouble. He worried for Hercules, whose hopes of ever getting Medusa back seemed to have faded completely, and whenever she was mentioned--they were careful not to mention her these days--his gaze would darken with a mixture of grief and guilt, and they would have to drag him home from the tavern a few hours later.

More and more his mind wandered to Crete. He had been unbearably close on their journey to Aegina, and yet he hadn’t gotten the chance to make it there, and see Icarus after all these years apart. He had not realized how much he had wanted to see his old friend again until the chance had been before him, and with it gone the sadness he had pushed aside surged up to the surface again. But it was time to let him go, he forced himself to decide. Their days as children were long over, and dwelling on them did him no good except to make him miserable. Icarus had been gone for a long time; there was a chance he had found a life in Crete, and had decided to remain there.

A voice from above pulled his mind from darker places, and Pythagoras’ eyes drifted upwards as he searched for the source. He stiffened at once when he saw a man balancing himself precariously on the edge of the roof, his sandaled feet half off the edge. Pythagoras started forward, uncertain of what to do but knowing he had to do _something_ , because the man looked like he was about to jump, when he heard the familiar voice of Daedalus drifting from the roof.

“You’re a fool,” he said scathingly. The man glanced back at him before he turned to the object in his hands.

“I bet you two drachmas it works,” he called over his shoulder at Daedalus. Pythagoras couldn’t discern what the object in his hands was exactly from such a height, but he could see feathers arching out like wings on either side of what looked like a burlap cradle holding a stone. He frowned up at the contraption as the man arced his arm back and threw the model from the roof. It careened into the street below, soaring down towards the ground with more grace than Pythagoras could have imagined. He heard the man laugh, and Daedalus’ head appeared over the side of the roof as he watched the model’s descent.

“I told you it would work!” the man exclaimed, and Pythagoras’ eyes widened. He could barely make out the man’s face, but in that moment he _knew_ , he just knew. He took a few steps further out to the center of the street, half raising a hand towards them. “Icar--”

The model smacked him firmly in the face before he could finish, and Pythagoras dropped like a sack of stones with a small shout, clutching his nose. The laughter from the roof stopped, and he could hear Daedalus swearing at Icarus. He heard scuffling, then a pause before footsteps pounded across the street towards him. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me!” Icarus’ voice exclaimed in horror. Pythagoras felt Icarus’ leg press up against him as he crouched in the dirt beside him. His hands were like lightning as he traced his fingers up Pythagoras’ arm. “I didn’t see you, I wouldn’t have thrown--”

“It’s alright,” Pythagoras said quickly. He pulled his hands from his nose gingerly. It didn’t feel broken, though he was certain there would be a bruise on his forehead from the model hitting him. He smiled sheepishly up at Icarus and sat up. “How bad does it look?”

Icarus froze, halfway through another apology, and just stared at him. His mouth opened, then closed again. So much passed through his eyes, Pythagoras could tell he didn’t even know where to begin. But then it was like a wave meeting the shore as Icarus crashed into him, pulling him in so tightly he thought all air would leave his lungs. He squeezed Icarus just as tightly, burying his head in Icarus’ dark hair. He wanted to be angry at Icarus, more than he’d ever wanted to be angry at anyone. But seeing him, _holding_ him for the first time in eight years, he couldn’t even imagine what anger was meant to feel like. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“Nor I you.” Icarus released Pythagoras from his tight grasp and cupped his face between his hands, looking him over. They were older now, and their bodies had changed since they’d last seen each other nearly eight years ago. Icarus looked wider, taller; the eyes that had seemed so wide and large fit him well, and his ears no longer stuck out from his head like they had when they were children. He’d grown a beard too, not just the stubble he’d had as a young man. There was little of the boy he’d known in the man crouching before him, but his eyes were the same bright laughing things they’d once been. “Are you well?” he asked with a frown. “You look thin. Do they not feed you on all those adventures I’ve heard about?”

Pythagoras smiled and nodded. “I am well,” he said. His hands traced up Icarus’ arms. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed them, and his eyes, and smile. Even his tears. He’d missed everything about Icarus, and now he was here, just when he’d given up hope of ever seeing him again. “And you? I did not know you were back in Atlantis; Daedalus never mentioned you’d finished.”

Icarus’ lips twitched in that smile that told Pythagoras he was hiding something, but he nodded anyway. “I am as well as can be expected,” he said softly. His small sigh caught in his throat, but his smile widened. “I am glad to have returned to Atlantis.”

Pythagoras smiled and nodded his head. “I’m glad you’re here.” There was so much to be said, and yet the red of the setting sun reminded him that Jason and Hercules were waiting for him to return. He looked at Icarus guiltily. “I’m so sorry, but I must go,” he said. “Someone’s expecting me.” Icarus’ eyes flashed with disappointment as Pythagoras pushed himself to his feet.

“You can’t stay for dinner?” he asked hopefully.

“I want to,” Pythagoras told him earnestly. “But I made promises I have to keep.” He brushed the dirt from his jacket. “Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow? We can catch up, just the two of us…”

Icarus nodded slowly, a smile creeping onto his lips. “I’d like that,” he said. He slid to his feet and pulled Pythagoras into a quick hug. “Until we meet again, my friend.”

Pythagoras smiled. “Until we meet again.”

 

 


	11. Book X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras realizes time alone with Icarus might not actually be the great idea he'd thought it was.

Pythagoras was a ball of nerves the entire day. He cleaned the house twice, much to the bafflement and amusement of Hercules, who sat watching him work while he ate a leisurely breakfast. “What’s gotten into you?” he finally asked as Pythagoras continued to sweep the already spotless floor. “Ariadne is recovering, there’s no need for you to be so anxious.”

“It’s not that.” Pythagoras paused for a moment and looked at Hercules. He was hesitant to bring up anything to do with love around his friend, but of the three of them it was Hercules who had the most experience when it came to the subject. He sighed. “Icarus is back in Atlantis.”

Hercules looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Who’s Icarus?”

Pythagoras resumed sweeping. “Daedalus’ son,” he said. “We were friends when I first came to Atlantis. Very good friends.”

Hercules raised his eyebrows. “When you say ‘very good friend’...” he said slowly. “You mean you were…?”

Pythagoras felt the color rising in his cheeks. “We were more than friends, yes,” he said with a hint of exasperation. “That’s not the point.”

“Aah.” Hercules nodded his head slowly like he’d just had a revelation. “So _that’s_ why I’ve never seen you with a girl.”

Pythagoras paused sweeping and raised his eyebrows at Hercules. “Not why I brought this up.”

“Right.” Hercules waved a hand at him. “Continue.”

Pythagoras resumed his sweeping. “Icarus and I parted ways years ago on… uncertain terms,” he said slowly. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again, and after he left he cut off all contact with me. I tried to move on and forget about him, but I saw him yesterday…”

“And all your feelings came rushing back,” Hercules completed. “And now you don’t know what to do, or if he’s moved on.”

Pythagoras nodded, pursing his lips. “He’s coming for dinner tonight,” he said meekly, glancing around the room. “I wanted to talk to him just the two of us, but now I’m not sure that’s wise.”

Hercules raised his hands with a shrug. “You can sit up here and clean and worry about what’s going to happen, or what could happen,” he said. “Or you could sit down now, have a drink, and let the fates decide.”

“But the house…”

“Is cleaner than it’s ever been,” Hercules told him sternly. “I’m sure he’ll be so impressed by your cleaning abilities he’ll sweep you off your feet.” He filled a cup to the brim with wine and set it across the table in front of Pythagoras. “Now sit. Drink.”

So Pythagoras sat, and he drank. He and Hercules talked for the rest of the morning, and the details of Pythagoras’ life that he had always tried so hard to keep hidden from Hercules poured from him in a wave. Hercules was a good listener, it turned out, and despite the occasional comment he was quiet. Pythagoras told him everything, from leaving Samos to becoming part of Daedalus and Icarus’ family, to falling for Icarus and the heartbreak of his departure. He told him of Jason, and how he’d fallen in love with him, and how that love had turned from longing to fierce, unhesitating loyalty. He told him everything there was to tell, and when he was finished he sat back in his seat and sighed at the weight that seemed to have lifted from his chest.

Hercules was silent for a long time as he processed all of the information Pythagoras had given him. He took a long sip of wine, draining his cup and setting it back down on the table. He finally looked at Pythagoras and frowned. “How have you been living with all of this bottled up?” he asked. “You need to talk more, my friend.”

Pythagoras laughed, and couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Whether it was the wine, Hercules, or the relief he did not know, but he shook his head and laughed like he hadn’t in ages. Hercules joined in more out of confusion it seemed, but after a moment they were both laughing in earnest, faces red and eyes streaming.

Jason entered, stifling a yawn behind his hand as he closed the door behind him. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, and his curly hair stuck up on one side of his head as though he’d just rolled out of bed. Hercules and Pythagoras took one look at him and started laughing harder.

“Him?” Hercules said incredulously, pointing to Jason. “ _Really?_ ”

Pythagoras rested his head on the table, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “I never said I had good taste,” he chuckled.

Jason had never looked more confused. “Have I missed something?” he asked.

Hercules shook his head and patted Pythagoras on the shoulder. Pythagoras hiccuped. “Just admiring how much our little Pythagoras has grown up,” he said somberly. He glanced out the window. “And now you and I should go so we don’t disrupt Pythagoras’ date.”

“ _Date?_ ” Jason’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Pythagoras wanted to sink into the floor. “What date? With wh--”

“Let’s go, loverboy.” Hercules hopped from his seat with agility Pythagoras did not know he possessed and steered Jason towards the door. He winked at Pythagoras. “We’ll be back late,” he promised him, and shut the door behind them.

Pythagoras sighed, rubbed his hands over his face a few times, and started setting up dinner.

* * *

 

Icarus arrived just as the sun started to dip below the horizon, looking somewhat anxious and bouncing on his heels while he kept his hands clasped behind his back. He smiled sheepishly when Pythagoras opened the door, and Pythagoras was reminded sharply of the boy he’d been. But eight years was a long time. He stepped aside. “Come in.”

Icarus entered and peered around curiously, his wide eyes scanning over every surface of the house. “The place looks amazing,” he said softly. Pythagoras noticed him clutching a bundle behind his back. “It’s the three of you…?”

Pythagoras nodded. “Jason, Hercules, and myself,” he confirmed. He gestured to the table, set with two plates and the best selection of food he could find in the market that morning with his measly savings. Icarus’ lips curled when he caught sight of the plums at the center.

“You remembered,” he said softly, taking his seat at the table and plucking a plum from the pile. Pythagoras smiled.

“Of course I did.” He sat down and began to load his plate. He kept looking at Icarus, just _looking_ at him. Questions burned in his mind, more than he could possibly ever ask, but he wanted a moment to reacquaint himself with Icarus again. Icarus didn’t say anything either other than the occasional comment about the house, and they ate in silence.

Pythagoras traced his hand along a worn cut in the table, glancing up at Icarus again. Jason had made the cut, he thought, when he’d been cursed for robbing a temple. It was a strange life he’d been living, when he stopped to think about it. His life had never been this interesting before he’d met Jason. But it had also been simpler. Whatever fate the Oracle had told him about for himself was something he never could have imagined. On that, at least, she had been truthful. Pythagoras finally turned his full attention to Icarus and frowned. “Why did you never respond to my letters?”

Icarus seemed surprised by the question, and he looked up at Pythagoras with raised eyebrows. A frown curved his lips. “They kept me closely watched there,” he began. “Letters were hard to send to anyone except…” His words faded at the look on Pythagoras face, disbelieving and hurt, and he sighed reluctantly. “I thought it would be easier for you,” he said after a pause, dropping his gaze back to his hands. “To move on from me…” He shook his head and shrugged. “I thought you’d be happier. I thought _I’d_ be happier.”

“And were you?” Pythagoras wasn’t so sure he wanted the answer, but curiosity pulled at him to know. “Did you?”

Icarus looked up at him again. His tongue traced his lower lip slowly. “No,” he said at last. “And no. You?”

Pythagoras shook his head. “I missed you,” he told Icarus gently. “You were my best friend. My only friend back then.”

Icarus’ cheeks flushed. “And did you… did you move on?”

Pythagoras raised his eyebrows at Icarus, scrutinizing his expression. “Are you _jealous?_ ” he asked slowly. He couldn’t help his lips curling upwards a little with satisfaction.

Icarus brushed his hand across the back of his neck and shook his head quickly. “No,” he said, a little too quickly. _Liar._ “I’m just trying to catch up. You wrote in your letters… I know what you sound like when you’re in love. I assumed you’d...”

Pythagoras dropped his gaze to the table, his face flushing with color. “Well to answer your question, no,” he said. Icarus’ gaze jerked up like it was on a string he’d pulled. “I tried, but I never found the right person. And even when I thought I had, they found someone else.”

Icarus inclined his head slowly. “Jason,” he said, and Pythagoras shrugged.

“He is a good man,” he said. “Ariadne is fortunate to have him by her side.”

Icarus’ eyes flickered with pleasure while the rest of his face feigned sympathy. “I am sorry, though,” he said after a hasty glance at Pythagoras’ expression, which clearly told him his sympathy was not being believed. “That you haven’t found happiness yet. You know that’s what I wish for you before anything.”

Pythagoras nodded, the traces of a smile dashing across his lips. “Of course,” he agreed. Icarus’ lips curled upwards in a hesitant smile. He gestured to the bundle Icarus had set beside him on the bench. “What’s that?”

Icarus lifted the bundle from his seat and put it on the table. “It’s for you,” he said, sliding it towards Pythagoras. “I wasn’t going to give it to you unless I thought… it’s all the letters I wrote to you. I thought you might want them.”

Pythagoras took the bundle in his hands and stared at it. Eight years’ worth of letters, of Icarus’ thoughts and feelings that he had missed out on. He glanced up at Icarus. “Thank you.”

Icarus shrugged. “I’m sorry I didn’t send them,” he said earnestly. “I thought you’d be happier not hearing from me.”

Pythagoras pursed his lips. “I asked you to write to me,” he said softly. “I begged you…”

Icarus shrugged helplessly. “I mean what I said, Pyth,” he told him. “I  thought you’d be happier if I just kept my distance. You couldn’t come see me, and I couldn’t come visit you. What was the point?”

Pythagoras sighed and touched a hand to his temple. He didn’t want to argue with Icarus. “At least I have them now.” He glanced out the window. “It’s past nightfall. Won’t Daedalus be missing you?”

Icarus shook his head. “I am old enough that he needn’t worry about me,” he said. His eyes glimmered with the old, familiar fire Pythagoras felt still burning in his chest. Icarus’ hand slid across the table, inching for his. Their fingers brushed, and Icarus leaned forward a fraction. Pythagoras could not breath. “He will not miss me if I do not return.”

Icarus was half out of his chair when the door opened and Hercules came in, his head turned as he continued his conversation with Jason about something Pythagoras didn’t catch. Icarus snaked back from him quick as lightning and rose completely from his seat. His hand already reached out for his cloak.

Jason raised his eyebrows at Icarus. “Hello,” he said, glancing from Pythagoras’ completely red face to Icarus’ equally flushed one. His smile widened a fraction more as he realized he’d probably interrupted something private. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Icarus,” Pythagoras stammered out hastily, rising from his seat. “Icarus, this is Jason, and Hercules.”

Hercules’ mouth curved in a smile. He’d never seen Pythagoras look so embarrassed, and he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to tease his friend. It wasn’t hard for him to block the exit, and he grinned at Icarus. “Icarus, is it?” he said with bemusement as Icarus took one look at him and swallowed hard. “Pythagoras has told us _all_ about you.”

The look on Icarus’ face was enough to make the bluff worth it. “What?” he exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch as Pythagoras shot Hercules a warning glare.

“No I haven’t, you drunken fool,” he said scathingly. His face burned. “And even if I had, I doubt you’d have remembered with all the wine you drink. It’s a miracle you can even find your way home.”

“That’s why we have Jason,” Hercules teased as Pythagoras grabbed his cloak and Icarus’ elbow, toting him past Hercules and out the door. Hercules gave Pythagoras a thumbs up and waved his hand after them, grinning from ear to ear. “It was nice meeting you, Icarus!”

Icarus’ smile was more of a grimace. He looked anxiously at Pythagoras as they descended the wooden steps to the street below. “So your friends...” he said slowly. His voice rose in pitch a fraction. “You’ve--you’ve told them about me?”

“Oh not you too.” Pythagoras shook his head. “They just like to tease me; they don’t think I have any friends except for them. Which is funny, really, since I think I’m the only one of them that has friends beyond the three of us.” He glanced at Icarus and frowned. “Hercules just likes to tease, pay him no mind…”

Icarus paused, pulling free of Pythagoras’ grip as he furrowed his brow. “You got me out of there pretty quickly,” he said softly. He tensed a little. “Do I embarrass you?”

“What? No! Icarus…” Pythagoras took a step towards him and touched his elbow. “You looked uncomfortable. And we were--you were--we--” He gestured to the air between them. “They mean well, but they like to tease for no reason.”

Icarus’ lips twitched in a frown. His gaze darted away from Pythagoras. “No reason,” he repeated. “Right. Thank you.” He gestured vaguely down the street. “I should go.”

Frustration flared in Pythagoras’ chest. “Remember to write this time,” he said softly, bitterly. Icarus turned to face him, and he regretted the words immediately.

“I’m sorry?”

But it was too late to turn back. Pythagoras shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want it to be another eight years before you’ll talk to me again.”

Icarus shook his head and took a step forward towards Pythagoras. “That’s not fair…”

“What’s not fair is you thinking things could go back to the way they were,” Pythagoras said, more harshly than he meant. All the words were coming out wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You left me.”

“You told me to go!” Icarus snapped. “You can’t be mad at me for doing what you asked--”

“I didn’t ask you to abandon me!” The words flew from Pythagoras’ lips. Icarus’ look of anger vanished, replaced with confusion and a flicker of guilt. Pythagoras sighed. “I asked you to go, you’re right about that. But you promised me that we wouldn’t just give up because we were far away and things were hard, and that you would write to me. And you didn’t, Icarus, you went back on your word. And before you say it, I didn’t need to be protected,” he added as Icarus opened his mouth. “I wasn’t happier not hearing from you. I _begged_ you to write back to me, to say anything so I knew you were okay. And you didn’t, you acted like I didn’t even exist for you anymore! For eight years! Eight years when I _needed_ you.”

“Your destiny was here in Atlantis,” Icarus said. His eyes were bright with tears. “Mine was in Crete. Our paths had to split, and I knew that if I wrote to you-- if I tried to talk to you, I would have ruined everything for you.”

Pythagoras shook his head. “You could never have…” he began, but Icarus shook his head.

“You were happy,” he said, almost accusingly. “You were mad with me for a time, but you were happy when Jason came to Atlantis. I know you were. And when I saw you yesterday… you have a life, Pythagoras. You have people here who love you, and who would do anything for you, as you would for them.” He brushed an agitated hand through his dark curls. “I was _miserable_ in Crete. If I’d written… I was afraid I would tear you from all of this. You would do anything for me, you said that once. If I’d written, you would have tried to come for me, and it could have ruined everything for you here in Atlantis. And I didn’t want to do that. I couldn’t.” He shook his head and stepped back. “I should go. Thank you for dinner.”

“Icarus…” Pythagoras sighed. He could sense it in the way Icarus looked at him; they had not given up on each other. But he was like the stars they’d studied as children; he could pretend to hold them in his hands, but no matter how high he stretched his hands they were out of reach. Nevertheless he tried, reaching out to brush his hand across Icarus’ shoulder. Icarus paused. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I don’t want us to fight.”

Icarus nodded. “I don’t want to either.” He glanced back up at the window of Pythagoras’ house. “I know things weren’t going to go back to the way they were,” he said after a pause. He wouldn’t meet Pythagoras’ eyes. “But I want you to understand that I still care about you. More than anything.”

Pythagoras offered him a small, hesitant smile. “Let me walk you home?”

Icarus smiled, but he was already shaking his head. “I could use the quiet,” he said, brushing a hand through his dark hair. “Clear my head, arrange my thoughts. I’ll see you soon.” He hesitated, then stepped back to Pythagoras, pulling him in for a brief hug. Pythagoras hugged him tight, then he was gone, pulling up his hood and disappearing down the street.

 

 


	12. Book XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras discovers something he didn't expect in Icarus' letters.

Jason and Hercules were waiting for him when he returned, sitting at the table with three cups of wine before them. Jason pushed a cup towards Pythagoras as he entered, and Pythagoras took it without hesitation, draining half the contents before sitting down.

“So,” Hercules said, looking expectantly at Pythagoras. “How did it go?”

Pythagoras groaned and dropped his head on the table. “I hate this.”

“So you two didn’t…?” Jason looked a little mortified. “We ruined it, didn’t we? See, Hercules, I told you we should’ve stayed out another hour--”

“And I told you young love waits for no man,” Hercules told him scornfully. “Now shut up so Pythagoras can tell us what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Pythagoras mumbled, his voice muffled against the table. “He was an idiot.”

“Well you were always going to be the smart one in a relationship,” Jason said reasonably. Pythagoras looked up and couldn’t help but smile at the proud smirk on Jason’s face.

“I wasn’t a genius either,” he said. “I just got so mad at him… eight years is a long time.”

Jason nodded. “It is,” he agreed. “But maybe… maybe he had his reasons.”

Pythagoras nodded. “He did,” he said. “And I understand why…” He sighed. “I’m going to bed.” He got up before Hercules or Jason could say anything and went to his room. He curled up onto his bed and stared out the window. It was going to be a long, long night.

* * *

Pythagoras woke feeling even worse than he had when he’d gone to sleep. It had taken him some hours to finally manage to drift off, and his night had been filled with dark, uneasy dreams of the labyrinth. He stretched, and after glancing out the window he slid from his bed and hobbled towards the door.

Jason was sitting at the table when he entered the room, turning the bundle of letters over in his hands. Pythagoras had completely forgotten about the letters, and seeing them sent a shiver up his spine. Pythagoras cleared his throat, and Jason dropped the bundle quickly onto the table as if he hadn’t just been looking at it.

“I didn’t open any of them,” he said, the words tumbling from his mouth in a nearly incoherent bunch. “I was just looking--”

Pythagoras took the letters and slowly turned them in his hands. “It’s fine,” he said, not really paying attention to Jason’s hasty apologies. “I’m going to-- I’m going to go read these.” He stared at the letters as he walked to his room and sat down on the foot of his bed. He was hesitant to open them; Icarus had not sent them for a reason. The possibilities of what they could contain was endless. Did he want to know what they said? Pythagoras wasn’t sure. But if there was a chance the letters could give him any sort of idea of what he was walking into with Icarus…  He opened the first letter and started reading.

 

_Pythagoras,_

_Crete is an incredibly lonely place. I have been working on my plans for the labyrinth the entire journey here, and now that I’ve arrived the king and I have had several conversations about his labyrinth. There’s little time for peace here, and whatever moments I am not working in I am sleeping. My mind is filled with plans for the labyrinth, but also thoughts of you, and home. I am so alone, Pythagoras. I miss you, I miss Father and our home. My only consolation in this place is that when I look up at the stars, they are the same ones that you look at. But even they seem foreign to me without you naming them at my side._

_Always,_

_Your Icarus_

 

Pythagoras opened the next letter.

 

_Pythagoras,_

_I miss you more than I can stand. Do you remember falling asleep on the roof that night? I snuck out onto the roof of the temple and watched the stars from there. It made me think of you. I’m sorry this is the first letter I’ve sent, I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t, just that I miss you. That’s the only thing I feel sure about._

_Your Icarus_

The letters flowed like water through Pythagoras’ hands as he read one after the other. Most of them started the same, asking him to recall something of their time together-- _Do you remember when you taught me to swim? Do you remember holding hands in the market that first time? Do you remember when Daedalus almost caught us kissing in the workshop and we hid under the table?_ \-- and an apology for not having written sooner. The more Pythagoras’ read, the more his eyes seemed to blur, until he stained one of the pages with a fat, salty tear. He wiped at his eyes, pausing to take a deep breath. The life Icarus had been living in Crete was a lonelier one than Pythagoras could have possibly imagined. But it made sense to him then, why Icarus had not sent any of the letters he’d written. It would have killed Pythagoras to have read the letters and been powerless to stop Icarus’ agony; he would have gone to him, would’ve done whatever it took to reach Icarus to help him. He would have promised Icarus something he could never give, because it was Icarus, and he’d do anything to try and make him happy. Icarus had kept his distance for both their sakes, as he’d promised. Pythagoras opened up the final letter.

_Pythagoras,_

_Of all the letters I have tried to write to you, this is perhaps the only one that should be sent to you. What I am about to do may mean that I see you again, or it may seal our fates so that our last meeting was our final one. If the former, I pray that you will forgive me for being absent all this time, both in person and in writing. I did it for myself, and to give you a chance at another life without me. I did not want to bring you guilt for my unhappiness, and knowing you I know you would blame yourself for all I have faced in Crete. It is not your fault that I came here, but mine and mine alone. If the latter, then know that there were things I should have said then that I never did. You know what they are, and perhaps you felt them too. But I’m sure you know that I felt them for you. If the gods grant us another chance, I hope to tell you these things in person. If we don’t (and even if we do), I wish you all the happiness this world can give you. No one has earned it more than you to love and be loved. I should have told you every day. I truly am a fool, aren’t I?_

_Until we meet again, however and wherever that may be,_

_Your Icarus_

Pythagoras’ fingers traced Icarus’ neat signature as he took in a shaky breath. Your Icarus… Pythagoras didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to say. The thought he’d never been able to confirm, the quiet hope that Icarus had loved him as he’d loved Icarus, was solved and settled in Icarus’ final letter. He scanned the letter again, rereading it three more times before placing it on the pile with the others. He would win Icarus back no matter what it took. He would do what Icarus had promised, and tell Icarus all the things he wish he’d told him now, when they’d been given the chance to. Pythagoras stood and grabbed his coat.

Jason looked up from the table as Pythagoras exited his room, raising his dark eyebrows questioningly. “Where are you going?” he asked as Pythagoras passed him.

Pythagoras paused by the door, turning back to glance at Jason. “Icarus,” he said. Jason grinned.

“Go get him.”

Pythagoras couldn’t help but grin back at him, a wild feeling of elation filling his chest. “I plan to.” He closed the door on Jason’s laugh and trotted down the steps two at a time. He practically skidded out onto the street, and then he was running, as fast as he could, all the way down the Sacred Way to the workshop. He paused a moment to catch his breath, resting his hands on his knees as he breathed. He didn’t want to lose his courage, he wanted to tell Icarus everything. He walked the rest of the way to the workshop and knocked three times.

The door opened, and there was Icarus, his dark eyes lighting up with surprise when he saw Pythagoras. “Pyth,” he breathed, opening the door a fraction further. “What are you…?”

“D-do you want to come for a walk with me?” Pythagoras knew he must have looked completely mad standing in front of Icarus, but he didn’t care.

Icarus hesitated, but after a moment he nodded. “Okay.” He stepped out onto the street and closed the door behind him. His eyes went to Pythagoras’ with a hint of nervousness Pythagoras couldn’t explain. They started walking, and neither of them spoke until they reached the Sacred Way.

“I read your letters,” Pythagoras finally said. He saw Icarus’ head go up out of the corner of his eye. “This morning.”

For a moment Icarus didn’t say anything. He looked back down, watching his feet for a while, biting his lip. He finally sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “You know everything now,” he said at last. He glanced up at Pythagoras, his eyes wide and fearfully hopeful before his gaze dropped back to the ground again. He opened his mouth three times as if about to say something, but each time closed it with a small sigh.

They passed a cart carrying a load of fruit. Pythagoras’ hand snaked out, and he snatched a plum from the back. He held out the plum to Icarus and grinned. Icarus looked at the plum for a moment before slowly smiling. He took the fruit and brought it to his lips. The juice from the plum ran down his chin, and he wiped his face with his hand before passing it back to Pythagoras. Pythagoras took a bite and continued walking. They passed the plum back and forth until it was gone, not speaking as they walked. They didn’t have to, that was the best part. After a while Icarus looped his fingers with Pythagoras’, and Pythagoras glanced at his wide grin with a smile.

“Someone will see,” he said teasingly. And how that had mattered to him when they were younger, in a way that seemed silly to him now. No one on the streets of Atlantis would care at all, he doubted anyone would even notice them.

Icarus chuckled, shaking his head. “Let them see,” he said. His eyes met Pythagoras, and his smile widened. He pulled Pythagoras off the street, away from the crowds into the peace of an alley. Pythagoras couldn’t help but chuckle at Icarus’ hands trailing themselves up his body from his waist to his chest, then down to his hands. Icarus paused a moment and looked at him, just really _looked_ , happiness and wonder in his eyes, before he leaned forward. Pythagoras reveled in the kiss, tangling his fingers in Icarus’ dark hair and feeling as though he might burst from happiness. Icarus, _his_ Icarus, pressed up against him, and simple as that all the cares and worries that he’d been carrying for so long seemed to just fade away. Icarus’ mouth left his and trailed down his neck in a series of quick kisses. Pythagoras sighed softly, his breath hitching in his throat, and pulled Icarus’ lips back to his again.

He didn’t care if anyone saw them. Hercules could have walked by and he wouldn’t have even blinked. It was just him and Icarus in the whole world in that moment, like they were up on the roof again, getting to know each other in breathless kisses and tangled limbs. His world was made up of the curve of Icarus’ back, the careful touches of his hands pulling closer, the dark curls of Icarus’ hair between his fingers. He wanted more, wanted so much more, wanted everything there could be with Icarus. He was happy, he was safe, and with Icarus he felt complete.


	13. Book XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally reunited with Icarus, Pythagoras enjoys a moment of happiness. Icarus comes clean about his time in Crete, and Pythagoras introduces him to Jason and Hercules.

It was amazing how simple things became after that. Pythagoras and Icarus did not return to the workshop until dinner, and Daedalus welcomed both of them in to eat. It was like stepping back in time sitting around the table with Icarus and Daedalus again; they laughed, they spoke of Daedalus’ inventions and Pythagoras’ triangles, Icarus teased them all and for the first time in years, Pythagoras felt as though his family was truly complete.

Icarus walked him home after dinner, and it was enough just to be beside each other with their fingers entwined. Icarus pointed up at the stars, showing Pythagoras new constellations he had learned in Crete. Pythagoras’ eyes drifted to Icarus more than the stars, and he grinned when Icarus caught him looking. Icarus laughed, his wonderful wild laugh, and pressed his lips to Pythagoras’ cheek. “I’m trying to be serious,” he scolded with a chuckle. “Stop making me laugh.”

Pythagoras grinned. “Never.”

They paused at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the house, disappointed that the walk was not further. Icarus pressed his lips to Pythagoras’ gently. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he murmured, his eyes glimmering with hope.

Pythagoras nodded. “You better.” He kissed Icarus again, pulling him close by his tunic and smiling as Icarus made a little sound of surprise. Their lips parted breathlessly, and when Pythagoras pulled away it was to Icarus’ smiling face. He pecked him once more on the lips. “Goodnight, Icarus.”

Icarus hooked his arm as he climbed the first step and pulled him back for one final kiss. He grinned. “Goodnight, Pythagoras.”

And that was the beginning.

 

* * *

“Jump into the water, come on!” Pythagoras put his arms out like he could catch Icarus, grinning up at him. Icarus balanced uncertainly on a rock a few meters up the side of the cliff, shuffling with fear as he looked down at the ocean surf below him.

“I don’t think I can, Pyth.”

Pythagoras lowered his hands into the water. “Well then why’d you climb up there?” He put his hands up again. “I’m right here. Come on.” He couldn’t help but laugh at Icarus’ expression. “I’ll catch you!”

Icarus clenched his jaw and jumped, splashing into the water just in front of Pythagoras. Pythagoras spluttered as water smacked him in the face, and a moment later Icarus’ hands grabbed hold of his arms. He pulled himself up, blinking water from his eyes and grinning wildly. He bit his lip. “Did I do okay?”

“You did brilliantly,” Pythagoras chuckled. He brushed Icarus’ hair from his face. “Shall we go in?”

Icarus nodded. “I think I’ve had enough for today.” They paddled back to shore and raced each other to their clothes. Pythagoras was by far the slower runner, but he didn’t mind. Being the loser came with the better view. He walked up the beach the rest of the way to Icarus and started to pull on his clothes. Icarus had flopped into the sand already to pull on his sandals, shaking his dark hair every few seconds and sending droplets of water everywhere. He glanced up at Pythagoras and grinned. “So what now?”

Pythagoras clasped his belt and paused a moment, considering. “I don’t know,” he finally said, and reached for his shirt. He looked at Icarus with raised eyebrows. “Is Daedalus expecting you back for dinner?”

Icarus shrugged. “I told him I would be out with you,” he said. “I don’t think he expects me back at all.” He grinned as Pythagoras laughed. It was not untrue; Icarus and Pythagoras had spent nearly every moment together for the past two weeks. Pythagoras had never felt happier in his life than in those weeks, and the gloom that had held Icarus when he’d first returned to Atlantis was gone. Everything became startlingly simple: Icarus was there, and he was real, and there was nothing that could break Pythagoras’ spirits with him there.

He dropped down onto the sand beside Icarus, and Icarus rested his head in Pythagoras’ lap. “I was thinking about something,” he said after a moment. His fingers tangled absently in Icarus’ dark hair.

Icarus looked up at him. “What were you thinking about?” he asked.

“Your last letter to me.” Icarus’ soft smile faded, and he looked away from Pythagoras. His fingers tapped against Pythagoras’ leather bracelet. “You said that you were doing something that meant that I might not see you again…”

Icarus blinked. “Yes,” he breathed. “I remember.”

Pythagoras frowned. “I just want to know what you meant,” he said. “We don’t have to talk about it again, I just… I want to know.”

Icarus closed his eyes for a long moment, taking in a slow breath. “I was closely watched in Crete,” he said at last. His fingers continued to tap their rhythm on Pythagoras’ wrist. “I never finished the labyrinth, actually. I found out… I overheard a conversation. Since I built the labyrinth, they thought I knew all the ways out, and if I left I’d tell someone, or sell my designs. When I finished, they were going to lock me in there forever. That’s what they do with the people who build labyrinths apparently, to keep them from talking. I was never going to be able to leave...” He closed his eyes again, like he was having a bad dream and sighed again. “You were in the labyrinth here. You know what they’re like.”

Pythagoras nodded. “I remember it.”

Icarus took in a small breath. “They took my labyrinth and made it something ugly, Pyth. I designed it to be something beautiful, something that people would come for miles to see. And they took it and just-- It was… I’ve never been so alone in my life than when I was in there. I thought I would die there. It was all darkness, I couldn’t even see the sky… And I thought of you, and Father never seeing me again… never knowing what happened to me...” A tear slid down his cheek, vanishing into his dark hair. “That’s when I wrote to Father. They weren’t going to let me go. I couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped there, knowing that I’d helped them build it and never being able to see you or Father again. I didn’t know what to do, I was just…

“And then Father was there.” Icarus was smiling again. “He bribed a priest and smuggled me out, brought me back to Atlantis. I burned down my workshop in Crete so they couldn't use my plans to finish the labyrinth. The plan was to make them think I'd burned too. I wrote that letter the night before we escaped…” He brought a hand to his face, wiping almost angrily at his eyes. “I just wanted to come home.” He sat up hastily, shaking his head. “I’m sorry--”

Pythagoras moved forward and touched Icarus’ shoulder. Icarus turned to look at him, his eyes red and unnaturally bright. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s all going to be okay.” He touched Icarus’ hand, and Icarus’ fingers twitched in response. “I can only imagine what these years have been like from what you’ve told me,” he said. “But I know that one day it will fade, and be nothing but a distant memory. You won’t feel sad about it anymore.”

Icarus’ lip trembled. “How do you know?”

Pythagoras smiled gently at him. “Because I was in a place like that,” he said. “When I came to Atlantis, I thought that my life was over. I had no worth. And then I met you, and Daedalus. And suddenly my life had meaning. There were people who cared for me like I’d never known in my life. You were there for me at a time when I never thought anyone would ever _want_ to be there for me. So now I’m here,” he added, intertwining his fingers with Icarus’. “and I will always be here. And it might take time, but the darkness will fade. Until then I’ll be here to keep you from it again, okay?”

Icarus nodded. “Okay.” He leaned forward, and Pythagoras pulled him into a tight hug. Icarus’ hair was still damp from the water, and cold against Pythagoras’ neck. He squeezed his eyes tight shut. Icarus released him, and they pressed their foreheads together. There was nothing but the warmth of Icarus, and the soft rhythm of his breathing, and the rumble of the waves behind them. Pythagoras touched his nose to Icarus’, and Icarus opened his eyes. He smiled, and Pythagoras smiled back. He should have said it then.

Perhaps the gods _had_ cursed him, to never be able to say what it was his heart burned to.

* * *

 

 

“I need you two to promise that you’ll be nice.”

“Of course we’ll be nice, when are we not nice?”

“Hercules.”

“Okay, yes, fine, we’ll be good.”

Pythagoras pointed a warning finger at Jason. “You too,” he said warningly. “I want nothing lewd or anything from either of you, understood?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “We’ll be good wingmen, I promise.” He started giggling, and Pythagoras and Hercules both looked at him like he was mad. He shook his head. “It would take too long to explain.”

Pythagoras was saved from lecturing them further by a knock on the door. He gave Jason and Hercules a final warning look before he opened the door and let Icarus in. Icarus smiled sheepishly, glancing from Pythagoras to Jason and Hercules. He raised a hand in greeting. “Hello again.”

Hercules stepped forward, scrutinizing Icarus for a full minute before finally offering him his hand. “Welcome back, Icarus,” he said as Icarus gingerly shook his hand. “You left so quickly last time you were here, we didn’t get to introduce ourselves properly.”

Icarus swallowed hard.

Jason stepped forward, and Hercules dropped Icarus’ hand. Everyone turned to look at the two of them as they stared at each other, silently sizing the other up. Pythagoras couldn’t help but hold his breath; it was silly, that this was a moment of tension, and yet the two of them just looked at each other like they were in the arena, about to duel to the death. But then Jason’s face split into a wide smile, and everyone relaxed. He patted Icarus on the shoulder, and Icarus returned his smile hesitantly.

“It’s nice to officially meet you,” he said, glancing at Pythagoras. “Pyth’s told me so much about you…”

Pythagoras let himself exhale and smiled reassuringly at Icarus. Icarus’ wide shoulders loosened a fraction, and after a few moments he seemed to relax. It was foolish to think of Jason as a threat, and yet now that the two of them were talking and smiling at each other, things felt as though they had finally settled. Pythagoras beckoned them all to the table, where he’d laid out a full meal for them. Jason and Icarus sat first, and Pythagoras shot Hercules a warning look and mouthed a silent “be nice” at him. Hercules rolled his eyes and made a face before taking his seat beside Jason.

“So Icarus,” he said, a little louder than was completely necessary. Jason and Icarus stopped talking. Hercules laced his fingers together in front of himself and scrutinized their guest. Everybody seemed to tense again. Hercules jerked his head towards Pythagoras. “Does he bore you to tears talking about triangles as well?”

Icarus let out a small, surprised laugh as Pythagoras smacked his forehead with his hand in exasperation. “Uhm, no,” he said quickly, glancing at Pythagoras with a grin. “I could never be bored listening to him.”

Hercules seemed to approve of the answer, and nodded. “Well then let’s eat,” he announced, the symbol that all was well in the world of Hercules, and reached for the bread. Icarus glanced at Pythagoras and grinned. Pythagoras pressed his leg against Icarus’ under the table and smiled back at him.

It was smooth sailing from there, and Pythagoras had never felt happier or more relieved than he did with Icarus being accepted by Jason and Hercules. Icarus smiled and laughed along with them, and after a while he began to tease them as he did with Daedalus and Pythagoras. This was what things should feel like, with all of them together. All that was missing was Daedalus, and the circle around the table would be complete with Pythagoras’ family.

It was well past dark when the night finally reached its end. Jason stretched his hands over his head and yawned. He glanced out the window. “I should go,” he said, shifting to rise from his seat. “I promised Ariadne I would sit with her tonight.” He glanced at Pythagoras. “I’ll probably sleep there,” he said. His eyebrows rose a fraction with hidden meaning, and he stood. He glanced at Hercules. “And you?”

“To the tavern,” Hercules said. He was slower to his feet, and once up he stretched his hands towards the ceiling until his back cracked. He looked at Pythagoras as well. “One of you come and fetch me in the morning, will you?”

Jason nodded. “I’ll get you on my way home.” He looked at Pythagoras one final time and smiled. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said. Pythagoras opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t think of a retort that would wipe the smirk from Jason’s face, so he simply rolled his eyes at him.

Hercules waved a lazy hand at them. “Goodnight, Pythagoras,” he said as he tottered towards the door after Jason. “It was nice meeting you, Icarus.”

“Nice meeting you too.” Icarus smiled after them until the door clicked shut. His eyes turned to Pythagoras.

Pythagoras let out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping. He looked at Icarus. “So what do we--” But Icarus closed the distance between them in a step, taking Pythagoras’ face between his hands and pulling him in for a kiss. Pythagoras let out a surprised sound halfway between a squeak and a sigh, but melted the moment Icarus’ hands pulled him closer.

“What was that for?” Pythagoras asked when their lips finally parted, and they grinned at each other breathlessly.

Icarus shook his head. “I wanted to,” he said simply. He pecked Pythagoras on the lips again. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night.”

Pythagoras couldn’t help but chuckle. His hand trailed up to Icarus’ hair, and he brushed a few dark curls back from Icarus’ temple. “It still feels like a dream, that you’re here,” he said softly. But Icarus was real, he was there for good. There would be no losing him again; it would be the two of them, facing whatever was to come together. Pythagoras’ hands slid down to Icarus’ waist, and he released him long enough to make sure the door was closed. When he turned back Icarus was frowning at him. Pythagoras’ brows knitted together. “What?”

Icarus shook his head, and for a moment Pythagoras thought he caught a glimmer of guilt in Icarus’ eyes. But then it was gone, and Icarus was pulling him slowly by the belt to the center of the room. “This is real,” he murmured softly. His hands drifted between them, gesturing. “This-- us-- it’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt. I don’t want to stop feeling like this.”

Pythagoras shook his head like he was in a trance. “I don’t want to either.”

Icarus stepped forward and grinned in that exhilarating way that made Pythagoras’ heart race as he pulled Pythagoras closer to him. He pressed his lips to his neck. “Good.” His lips traced Pythagoras’ neck slowly, pausing at his ear. Pythagoras’ breath hitched in his chest as Icarus grazed him lightly with his teeth. He turned his head, searching for Icarus’ lips blindly. Icarus’ mouth opened at his bidding, and they melted at the other’s touch, pulling at shirts and arms and hair with sharp, eager breaths.

Pythagoras leaned into Icarus and tangled his hands in Icarus’ curls. Hercules was out, Jason was out; it was just the two of them. He eased Icarus slowly backwards towards his room. Icarus did not protest, stepping back carefully and hooking his hands around Pythagoras’ thin hips. They entered his room and Pythagoras paused, parting his lips from Icarus’ for an instant to close the door.

Icarus pulled him around so he was facing the door and took one step back, then two, until Pythagoras’ knees bumped against the bed. His lips trailed across Pythagoras’ jaw. “It’s just us here tonight?” he asked softly.

Pythagoras sighed and pulled Icarus’ mouth to his again. “You heard Jason and Hercules,” he said. “It’s just us. If you’d rather we go to the workshop with your father sleeping upstairs…”

“Oh no, we’re not going anywhere.” Icarus grinned and pressed him down onto the bed, sliding on top of Pythagoras and continuing to trail kisses across Pythagoras’ neck. “In fact, I think I insist on not leaving this room for the rest of the night.”

Pythagoras grinned. “I think I can live with that.” He pulled Icarus down, knotting his fingers in Icarus’ tunic and looping his legs around Icarus’ waist. As he pressed himself into Icarus it was like they had never been apart; Icarus’ body had changed somewhat in eight years, but it was still Icarus. Pythagoras traced his hands across Icarus’ skin, along his crescent birthmark and the scar up his leg, across his broad shoulders and down his spine. Icarus reacted to his every touch, burying his face in the curve of Pythagoras’ neck and rediscovering every place that made Pythagoras squirm. They crashed into each other, quick and steady as waves, all hands and breathless kisses and gasps until there was nothing in the world except the two of them.

They curled up together after, tangling their legs together and sliding beneath Pythagoras’ blanket to hide from the cool night air pouring in through the window. Icarus pressed his lips to Pythagoras’ neck with a breathless smile. “I missed you,” he murmured, for perhaps the dozenth time.

But Pythagoras was never tired of hearing it. He smirked with sleepy pleasure. “Don’t leave again,” he whispered. He turned to look at Icarus. He bit his lip. “I don’t want to lose you. Not when we’ve just found each other again.”

Icarus kissed his temple. “I won’t,” he promised. Pythagoras settled his head in the crook of Icarus’ neck. “You’re stuck with me for a very long time.”

Pythagoras smiled and closed his eyes. Sleep was the easiest it had ever been curled up in Icarus’ arms. He had forgotten what it felt like, forgotten that he could ever feel so safe. This was what home was meant to feel like: Icarus’ warmth and his arms, his breath tickling Pythagoras’ forehead and his knee pressing against Pythagoras’ thigh. “Good.”


	14. Book XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icarus' past in Crete finally catches up to him; Pythagoras makes a mathematical discovery.

That night Pythagoras dreamed of Icarus. He opened his eyes slowly, stifling a yawn with his hand and blinking at the early morning sun pouring in through his window. _It was just a dream_ , he told himself as he stretched. His hand hit against something soft, and Icarus groaned. Pythagoras’ lips curled into a smile, and he leaned over to kiss Icarus’ temple, just above his eye. It wasn’t a dream; Icarus was there, with his dark hair and gold skin and his back dotted with freckles like constellations, curled up beside him in bed. “Good morning.”

One of Icarus’ dark eyes opened slowly, and he smiled sleepily. “Pythagoras.” His gaze drifted around the room lazily, reacquainting himself with his surroundings through bleary eyes. “I don’t think I’ve slept that well in ages.”

Pythagoras chuckled. “You snore.”

Icarus looked scandalized. “I do not!”

“You absolutely do!” Pythagoras grinned at the look of mortification on Icarus’ face. “But it’s a little snore, so I don’t mind.”

Icarus smiled gratefully and kissed Pythagoras, his arms pulling him close until they were chest-to-chest. Pythagoras’ breath hitched in his throat as Icarus’ hands traced down to the small of his back. He pulled back a fraction and looked at Pythagoras with that quiet wonder. “So last night,” he said softly. He bit his lip and glanced down. “I didn’t think we’d ever…”

Pythagoras rested his head on Icarus’ chest. “I didn’t either.”

Icarus looked up at him slowly. His eyes glinted as he grinned mischievously. “How long do you think until Jason and Hercules return?” he asked.

Pythagoras laughed and kissed the tip of Icarus’ nose. He looped his legs around Icarus’ and rolled, until he was on his back and Icarus was on top of him. He laughed at the look of surprised eagerness on Icarus’ face, and was still laughing when Icarus kissed him. They had time, they had so much time. He didn’t want to leave his room ever; he and Icarus could stay there, laughing and kissing like they were the only two people in the world. And they were then. No one else existed for Pythagoras, not Jason, not Hercules or Daedalus or Ariadne. Everything he loved was in his room with him, pulling him close and kissing him breathlessly, entwining his fingers with Pythagoras’ and moving with him like they were one and the same. Icarus’ breath hissed from between his lips, sharp and warm against his neck. _“Pythagoras.”_ He said Pythagoras’ name like a prayer, soft and gentle in his ear, and Pythagoras said Icarus’ name back, steady and breathless.

It was nearly midday when they finally decided it was time to get something to eat. It was reluctantly that Icarus let Pythagoras leave their bed, his lower lip sticking out fractionally in a frown as Pythagoras disentangled himself from Icarus’ legs. He leaned back against Pythagoras’ pillow, his hands behind his head as he watched Pythagoras wash himself with a washcloth and the water basin beside his window. “Do you have anything to do today?” he asked.

Pythagoras glanced at him and shook his head. “No,” he told him with a small shrug. “I was probably just going to work on my…” He paused, his hands half raised to his face. Icarus sat up and frowned at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He half rose from the bed. “Pythagoras…”

“If I square it.”

Icarus looked dumbfounded. “What?”

“If I square everything.” Pythagoras dropped the washcloth back into the basin with a splash and practically ran to his desk, grabbing a piece of paper and his charcoal. He began to scribble hastily, his handwriting barely legible in his excitement. Icarus edged forward to the side of the bed and watched him, not daring to make a sound in case he disturbed Pythagoras’ train of thought.

Pythagoras paused his scribbles and stared at the paper with wide, excited eyes. “That’s it,” he said breathlessly. He glanced at Icarus and grinned. “That’s it.”

Icarus peered at the paper. “Your theorem?” he asked. Pythagoras nodded. Icarus’ face broke out in a wide grin, and he bounded to his feet, pulling Pythagoras to him and kissing his cheek. “Congratulations,” he said. Pythagoras couldn’t stop himself from grinning and staring at the paper.

“We should go tell Daedalus,” he said. He looked around the room hastily. “Where did I throw my shirt…”

Icarus flopped back onto the bed as Pythagoras began searching the room for the rest of his clothes. “No, come back to bed,” Icarus protested, though his lips curled upwards with amusement as he watched Pythagoras. “Who knows, maybe you’ll think of another theorem.” He laughed as Pythagoras tossed his shirt in his face.

“Get dressed,” he told him, still grinning. “You can be my muse later.”

Icarus chuckled, pulling his shirt over his head. “I like the sound of that.” He and Pythagoras got dressed quickly after that, and within a few minutes they were hurrying out the door, Pythagoras clutching his theorem like the most precious thing in the world in one hand and Icarus’ hand in the other. Icarus waved at Jason and Hercules as they passed them sitting at the table, snatching himself a piece of bread as he passed.

“You two are up late--” Hercules began with a tone of bemused disapproval, but Pythagoras simply waved the paper at him.

“My theorem!” he said. Jason grinned at him.

“About time!” he exclaimed. “I was about ready to snap and just tell you myself.”

They closed the door on Hercules’ disbelieving snort and comment of “Like _you’re_ such a mathematical genius” and hurried down the steps onto the main street. The morning had never felt brighter, the streets never more lively, and Icarus’ smile more vibrant. Pythagoras felt like the world was his; nothing could destroy the feeling of complete and total elation in his chest.

“You should stay over tonight so we can celebrate,” Icarus said, taking a bite of bread as they walked. He held it in front of Pythagoras’ nose, and Pythagoras took a bite. He hadn’t realized how famished he was. “I’m sure Father would be happy to have you over. We could go up onto the roof after and…” He paused as they turned onto their street, and his smile faltered. “What…?”

The door to the workshop was wide open, hanging slightly lopsidedly on its frame. A few papers danced around the entryway like scattered leaves, blowing out onto the street. Pythagoras heard shouting from inside, Daedalus’ voice raised indignantly. “He’s not here, I don’t know where he is!”

Icarus released Pythagoras’ hand and ran to the door. “Father!”

“Icarus, go!”

Pythagoras ran after him. The workshop looked as though it had been through a windstorm; inventions and papers were scattered everywhere, in a way that made Pythagoras cringe to see. Six armed guards were in the workshop, two holding Daedalus while the others scattered Daedalus’ life’s work across the floor carelessly. They halted when they saw Icarus standing in the doorway. “That’s him,” one of them said. They dragged Icarus forward, kicking and protesting. Pythagoras rushed forward.

“Get off him!” He pushed one of the guards, and the man shoved him to the ground. Icarus leapt forward, dragging against the guards holding him, and was hauled back to his feet.

“Don’t touch him,” he practically snarled as one of the guards stepped towards Pythagoras. “Don’t you dare touch him.”

“Icarus, you have abandoned your task of building the labyrinth of Crete,” one of the guards said. “You have stolen your plans so that the labyrinth cannot be completed. It is the will of the gods that you return to finish your work, and there you must remain.”

Icarus’ eyes widened. He pushed back with his feet, scrabbling to break free. _“No.”_

Daedalus pulled against the guards holding him. “Let my boy go,” he said. “Take me instead. The father must be worth the son.”

The guard shook his head. “It has to be him.”

Icarus’ eyes filled with tears, and he looked at Pythagoras. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. He dug his feet into the ground, stopping the guards from pulling him any further. “Pythagoras…”

“Take me with him.” Daedalus glared at the guard who seemed to be in charge. “I’m his father, I won’t let him rot in that sham you call a city alone. Take me along.”

“No.”

Daedalus’ foot made a solid, satisfying thud as it connected with the man’s knee. “I’ve seen the plans for the labyrinth as well,” he snapped defiantly. “Take me with him, or I swear upon my life I’ll give the plans to every soul that enters this city.”

The man was too busy swearing to respond to Daedalus, but his fellow guards seemed more than happy to comply with Daedalus’ request. They hauled him and Icarus towards the door, struggling and protesting and--in Daedalus’ case--swearing like a sailor for the destruction of the workshop. Icarus’ gaze searched desperately for Pythagoras. “Pyth--”

“Icarus!” Pythagoras flew to his feet and stumbled for Icarus. The guard Daedalus had kicked pushed him back again, as hard as he could. Pythagoras’ head hit against the table as he fell. He heard Icarus’ voice rise in a shout, and Daedalus’ furious protests. But it was like he was underwater; everything was far off, and the ceiling above him blurred and blackened. He tried to force himself up, but he couldn’t find the strength to move. “Icar…” Stars danced in his vision, constellations that he and Icarus had looked at together, spinning and drifting in and out of focus. Icarus, he had to find Icarus in the stars. The sky warped above him, shifting like it was alive. He didn’t recognize the constellations anymore. The sky kept spinning, until the stars were just streaks of light in his vision.

When he opened his eyes, the workshop was dark, and Icarus was gone.

 


	15. Book XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras, Jason and Hercules go to Crete to rescue Icarus and Daedalus.

“No.” Pythagoras stumbled to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain at the back of his head as he stood. “No.” He took a step forward, then another. “Icarus.” He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t dare let himself believe that this was it, and Icarus was gone. His knees trembled uncertainly beneath him, and he took another few steps forward. “Icarus!” His foot caught on one of Daedalus’ shattered inventions, and he fell hard to his knees. Pythagoras clenched his hands into fists as hot tears pricked at his eyes sharp as thorns. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry and break down and just lay there on the floor of the workshop, among Daedalus’ inventions and other broken things. Icarus was gone, back to the labyrinth he had hated and the prison that had already stolen eight years of their lives together. Pythagoras squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could and took a deep breath.

He would not fall apart. He would not let himself give up. He would count to ten and then he would get up, he would go home, and he would find a way to get Icarus and Daedalus back.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven… Eight…

“Pythagoras?”

Pythagoras opened his eyes, and there was Jason crouched before him. Hercules stood by the door, looking around the scene slowly. Jason touched Pythagoras’ shoulder. “Pythagoras, what happened?” He pulled his hand back. “You’re bleeding.”

Pythagoras unclenched his fists and took in a shaking breath. Nine… Ten. “Icarus is gone,” he said, his voice trembling. “So is Daedalus. T-they took them, they took them back to Crete.”

Hercules frowned. “Who took them?” he prompted. He took a step forward towards Pythagoras. “What happened? Walk us through it.”

Pythagoras forced himself to take another deep breath. “Men came to take Icarus back to Crete,” he said. “They never let him leave in the first place; Daedalus smuggled him out. When they tried to take Icarus, Daedalus made them take him too. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t-- I couldn’t--”

Jason put his hands on Pythagoras’ knees, leaning forward so that their foreheads nearly touched. His eyes were always so intense, full of a fire. Perhaps it was because he was touched by the gods, or perhaps it was some other reason, Pythagoras didn’t know. It had frightened him sometimes, when he’d seen the glimmer in battle, or in a fight. But now it was comforting to him. “We’ll get him back,” he promised. “There was nothing you could’ve done against soldiers.”

Pythagoras nodded numbly. “I can’t lose him again.” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the words slipped from his lips quiet and unbidden.

Jason nodded. “We’ll get him back,” he repeated. “Whatever it takes.”

Pythagoras rested his hand on Jason’s knee. “Thank you.” Then he was on his feet, stumbling around the workshop. “We will need supplies,” he said. Daedalus’ bag was hanging by the door. He grabbed it and started tossing things inside. “Food, water, horses…”

“Pythagoras, sit. Let us take care of that.” Hercules took a step towards him, putting out a hand to stop him. Pythagoras shied away and continued grabbing materials.

“Right now I need to focus and work,” he said. His voice trembled, and he swallowed hard. “Please let me do that.”

Hercules’ hand dropped back to his side, and he nodded. “Alright.” He nodded towards the door. “I’ll get the food.”

“And I’ll get us horses.” Jason looked sternly at Pythagoras, but there was a gentleness in his eyes as well. “Stay here until we get back,” he instructed. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, and we’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Pythagoras nodded. “First thing,” he repeated softly. Jason and Hercules seemed hesitant to leave him, but after a few hesitant moments they did. Pythagoras was relieved to not have them hovering around him, but the silence made it harder to focus on anything except the fact that the workshop was empty. He stuffed a few more things into Daedalus’ bag and went upstairs.

Icarus’ room was mostly empty, and it didn’t look as though anyone had been living there for some time. Pythagoras traced his hand along Icarus’ work table, and the slightly lopsided shelf hanging above his bed. There was nothing of Icarus in the room, not even a familiar smell or signs that he’d been there, just a thin layer of dust over everything. Pythagoras walked down the hall to what had once been his room.

It was here that he found Icarus’ things, arranged neatly on the shelves he had once called his own. The desk was covered in scribbles and notes, and Icarus had hanged a number of little models from his ceiling. Most were of birds, their little wings splayed out in flight, all wicker and wax except the wings. Pythagoras traced his finger along the wing of one of the models. Icarus had always been fascinated with flight, in the same way he was fascinated by the stars. Pythagoras sighed, and the birds drifted slowly, turning on their strings. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

He would not have seen them if he hadn’t been turned towards the window. Icarus had wedged them behind the door so that only the edges stuck out. Pythagoras frowned and stood, walking the few paces across the room and half-closing the door.

They were wings, long as a man’s arm and tapered like a real wing. Pythagoras turned the wing over slowly. It had a wooden frame, but the rest was wax, feathers and paper, woven together with what must have been hours of meticulous care, so that from the topside the wings looked as though they really were from a bird. There were leather loops along the length of the wing, large enough for a man’s arm to fit through.

Pythagoras couldn’t explain it, but he took the wings in his arms and brought them back down to the workshop with him. Something in his mind told him that he had to bring the wings, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake the thought. He wrapped them carefully in canvas and set them on the table. He sat down, then stood, then sat again. He pulled in a deep sigh and forced himself to sit still. But every time he blinked, each time his eyes closed, Icarus’ face appeared to him, scared and lost. He got to his feet again and did the only thing he could think to do. He picked up a broom and he started to sweep.

* * *

It was a week’s ride to Crete. Pythagoras spent each night beside the fire, and each night he would take out the wings and try to copy them. It took him some time--his technique was different from Icarus’, which made the wings a little heavier but ultimately sturdier--but by the fourth night he had completed his first pair of wings. Hercules and Jason watched him build, but did not question it. He would not have been able to explain it if they had.

Each night he dreamed of Icarus. They were warped dreams, like his nightmares long ago. He dreamed of Icarus in the labyrinth, stumbling blindly through the tunnels. In his dreams his father was there too, large and grotesque like the Minotaur had been, chasing Icarus like an animal. Pythagoras woke up more than once with tears in his eyes, but there was little comfort when he woke. Icarus wasn’t there; he opened his eyes to loneliness, and the unrelenting cold of waking without Icarus by his side. When Pythagoras woke, he began to work. Nothing could distract him like work.

They stopped near the beach a few miles from Crete and made camp there. “You and Hercules should stay here,” Jason said. “I’ll go into the city and find out where Daedalus and Icarus are.”

“I’ll go with you,” Pythagoras said, but Jason shook his head.

“There’s a chance you could be recognized by one of the guards,” he said. “You stay with Hercules. I’ll be back by nightfall.”

Pythagoras sighed and returned to his place by the fire. He pulled the wings from their canvas wrappings and resumed work.

Jason and Hercules stood together for a moment, talking in voices too low for Pythagoras to hear, before Jason headed up the beach. Hercules sighed, and joined Pythagoras. He frowned at him. “How many of those things are you going to make?” he asked.

Pythagoras tied off a knot and cut the remaining thread with his knife. “I don’t know,” he said.

Hercules raised his eyebrows at him. “Once Jason finds out where they are, we’ll make a plan,” he told him reassuringly. “It’ll be alright.”

Pythagoras shook his head. “How do you know?” he demanded. “I told Icarus it would be alright. I told him it was over, and he’d never have to go back. And look what’s happened. It’s my--”

“It is not your fault, don’t you dare say it’s your fault.” Hercules paused his rummaging in his bag to scrutinize Pythagoras. He pointed a finger at him. “It does no good to blame yourself for things you couldn’t control. Do you know who told me that?” Pythagoras sighed. “That’s right, it was you. Follow your own advice. When Jason comes back, we’ll make a plan. Have our plans ever failed?” He held up a hand as Pythagoras opened his mouth to respond. “Don’t answer that.”

Pythagoras smiled at him. Hercules had been his best friend for eight years. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Jason.”

Hercules returned his smile and shrugged, resuming his search in his bag. He pulled out a bottle and pulled out the cork. “Probably much more work.”

Pythagoras couldn’t help but grin.

* * *

 

Jason came back just before dusk as promised with news. Pythagoras held his breath as Jason sat down and accepted a small drink from the bottle, which given Hercules was probably wine. Finally Jason turned to Pythagoras. His brows knitted together. Never a good sign. “They’re being kept in a tower at the center of the labyrinth now that it’s finished,” he said. Pythagoras’ breath swept from his lungs. “They’re completely cut off; I couldn’t even get a message to them. The labyrinth is heavily guarded; there’s no way we could get in, and even if we did we’d be stuck in there too.”

“So there has to be another way in,” Pythagoras said. “Another entrance, or…”

Jason shook his head. “It’s impossible,” he told him. “The labyrinth stretches out of the caves and right to a cliff a hundred feet above the ocean. Unless you’ve got wings it’d never--” He stopped. They all looked at each other.

“No,” Hercules said. “Absolutely not.”

“We could do it!” Pythagoras said quickly. “Fly in and fly out. No one would know.”

“Pythagoras, no.”

“Hercules.” Pythagoras looked at Jason quickly. “We can do it.”

Jason glanced at Hercules, then back to Pythagoras. “How many sets of wings do you have?” he asked. Hercules made a sound of exasperation and got to his feet.

“I’ve got three sets,” Pythagoras said. He pulled the canvas bundle onto his lap and unwrapped them. “One for you, one for me, one for…”

“If you think there’s even the slightest chance on Zeus’ green earth that I am going to toss myself off a cliff on those pieces of paper you can forget it,” Hercules said, pointing a warning finger at Pythagoras. “Do you _seriously_ think that those will even work?”

Pythagoras and Jason nodded as one. “Yes.”

Hercules rolled his eyes. “Even so, we’ll need two pairs for Daedalus and Icarus when we reach them, to get them back out.” He looked between Pythagoras and Jason. “One of you can go. Not both.”

“I’ll go,” Pythagoras said, just as Jason said, “I’ll do it.” They looked at each other and frowned.

“You’re not going,” Pythagoras said. “They’re my--”

Jason shook his head. “No. I’ll go. I make the most sense, I’m stronger than you and lighter than Hercules. We can tie the other wings to me, I’ll fly there, and then we’ll all fly back.” He frowned back at Pythagoras. “Trust me.”

Pythagoras sighed. “Please,” he said softly. “They mean everything to me.”

Jason sighed, and after a pause he nodded. “Alright.”

“You don’t have enough--” Hercules began, but Jason cut him off.

“We’ll figure that out when we get there,” he said. “If this is Pythagoras’ decision, I’ll respect it.” He smiled reassuringly at Pythagoras, who nodded at him. Hercules threw his hands in the air with exasperation and reached for his bottle again.

“See you both in Hades,” he muttered, and returned to his seat.

* * *

“Just please be careful.”

“Pythagoras, if you tell me that one more time I’m going to jump off this cliff.”

“You’re going to jump off this cliff anyway!”

Jason smiled nervously at him and looked down. They’d walked together up to the top of the cliffs around the beach, and Pythagoras was securing the third set of wings to Jason’s arms. They were magnificent, really; Pythagoras had never seen anything like them. Jason moved one of his arms experimentally, feeling the resistance of his pair of wings. He had seemed confident enough that the wings would work, but confronted with actually putting it to the test, he seemed less sure. Pythagoras tied off the final strap and examined him critically.

“Just remember to not flap,” he said. “The wings won’t take that kind of strain. You’re going to have to glide as much as possible. It should be easy enough once you get out over the water.” He looked up at Jason. “Be careful, my friend.”

Jason outstretched his arms and turned back to the edge of the cliff. “If this kills me, please tell Ariadne I died a much more spectacular death,” he said, and jumped. Pythagoras rushed to the edge of the cliff and watched Jason as he careened downwards.

“Level out your arms!” he shouted down to him. He felt like covering his eyes, but he couldn’t look away.

Then Jason was _flying_ , uncertainly at first but steadying out after a few moments. Pythagoras heard his surprised, positively elated shout of triumph, and then he was off, soaring off the water like a bird. Pythagoras watched him until he was above the water. He bounced on his heels and let himself tip off the edge of the cliff into the air. The wings shuddered, catching the wind beneath them, and then he was flying, careening through the air with Jason by his side. He laughed, wild childlike elation filling his heart until he thought he would burst. Beside him Jason grinned, raising his voice to a shout of joy.

“This is amazing!” he called to Pythagoras. He tilted his wings slowly, drifting closer to Pythagoras. “We’re flying!”

They soared over the beach, where Hercules was staring up at them with his hands raised in triumph, until they were out over the water. Pythagoras watched the waves cap beneath him. The ocean looked strange from above, like a smeared painting of blue and white, with the reflection of the sky bouncing from the surface of the waves. He looked at Jason gliding a few meters to his right. “Which way?” he shouted over the wind.

Jason nodded his head towards the east. “The labyrinth starts beyond the city that way,” he called back. “So long as none of the guards spot us, we should be okay.” He pressed forward, gliding ahead of Pythagoras and taking the lead. Pythagoras pumped his arms slowly and glanced at his wings. They were holding well against the wind, it seemed, and his fear of them falling apart began to fade. He soared after Jason, tilting to the left so that he didn’t clip wing tips with him. He shuddered to even imagine what would happen if one of the fragile joints of the wings was to break.

After what must have been at least an hour of flying, Pythagoras’ arms began to shake. Jason had been right; he didn’t have the strength to fly for as long, and with the wind constantly smacking him in the face and trying to knock the wings off balance, it was no surprise he’d quickly grown tired. “How much further?” he called to Jason, who didn’t seem at all bothered after being in the air so long.

Again, Jason nodded his head. “Look for a tower,” he called back. “We should be close by now.”

“It’s dark out!” Pythagoras could barely see Jason in the last traces of dusk, let alone the labyrinth supposedly getting ever closer to them. “How are we going to find it if we can’t even see it?”

Jason shook his head and glanced back at Pythagoras. “No idea.” They glided for a while longer, scanning the darkness for any sign of the labyrinth. Pythagoras’ mind began to drift to less savory fates for them as the tremors in his arms became more severe. They could end up not finding the tower at all, and then what? They were far from land, there would be nowhere for them to regain their strength. Pythagoras did not doubt Jason’s strength, but what would he do? Jason had been right; he should have remained on the beach with Hercules.

“Jason--”

“There, look!” Jason jerked his head towards the darkness ahead of them, and Pythagoras’ heart jumped. There was a light, barely a speck on the horizon, flickering and wavering like a candle. Jason glanced back at him before fixing his eyes on the light again. “You think…?”

“Only one way to find out.” Pythagoras forced himself to pump his arms slowly, and he and Jason angled towards the light. Pythagoras could not take his eyes from the speck as it slowly grew. Icarus could be there, just ahead of him. Was he looking out his window at the stars, wondering whether Pythagoras was admiring the same sky? Pythagoras focused all of his remaining energy on keeping his wings steady, and angling his body towards the square of light.

The closer they got, the more of the tower Pythagoras could see. It was beautiful, really: tall, round and elegant, with a sloping circular roof that seemed to reflect the stars. The window was hardly big enough to allow them in, however. Pythagoras angled his wings to the side and circled the tower, searching for a safer place to land. “There’s a balcony!” he called to Jason, who followed him.

“How do we land?” Jason asked as they circled the building gain. The balcony was bigger than the window, but Pythagoras’ relief at finding it was cut short by Jason’s question.

“I don’t know.”

Jason made a small sound behind him. “I’ll go first.” Pythagoras drifted back as Jason angled himself towards the balcony. He couldn’t help but hold his breath; Jason lowered his feet as he got closer, and with a thump and a stumbling dance, he perched himself on the edge of the balcony. He looked back up at Pythagoras and beckoned him down with one wing.

Pythagoras took in a deep breath and angled himself towards the balcony. There was a railing; so long as he could land within it, he could stop himself on it when he hit the ground. Or, his brain told him, he could hit Jason, and send them both falling off the side of the tower. He did his best to copy Jason, putting his feet down so they would hit the balcony first, and trying to slow himself down with little pumps of his wings.

His knees jarred when he hit the balcony, and he stumbled hastily to regain his footing. Jason was the only thing to keep him from careening off the balcony, putting his hand firmly on Pythagoras’ thin chest. Pythagoras stopped and lowered his wings. He and Jason looked at each other, and it was like the air had been kicked from both their lungs. They sighed, slumping against the railing. Jason grinned, and Pythagoras started to laugh.

At the sound of his laughter, the door flew wide open, and there was Daedalus. He stood with one bony hand clutching the door, as though expecting to slam it on something thoroughly unpleasant, his brows knitted together as he squinted into the darkness. His eyes locked on Pythagoras.

Pythagoras smiled meekly at him.

“Father, what is it?” Icarus’ voice drifted from the tower, and then he was there, standing at Daedalus’ shoulder. He glanced at his father’s stunned face before following his gaze. His mouth fell open. “Pythagoras?” he hissed, as if unable to believe his eyes.

Pythagoras shrugged his shoulders, and the wings made a little rustling sound with the movement. “I didn’t think you’d write.”

Icarus leapt past his father and flung his arms around Pythagoras’ neck, burying his face in Pythagoras’ shoulder. Hot tears pricked Pythagoras’ skin like fire. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmured, his voice muffled by Pythagoras’ tunic. “How…?”

Pythagoras ruffled the wings at him. “I found these in your room.”

Icarus stepped back, and for the first time he seemed to realize the wings were there. He ran his hand along one of them, his brown eyes wide with awe. He looked up at Pythagoras. “You flew these here? They worked?”

Pythagoras nodded.

Icarus’ face broke into a wide grin, and he bounced a little with excitement. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together in triumph. “Aha! Father!” He spun back to face Daedalus, who was still staring at all of them like he’d gone mad. “Father, that’s two drachmas you owe me!”

Daedalus’ look of dumbstruck confusion vanished, and he smacked his son lightly on the back of the head. But nothing could wipe the grin off of Icarus’ face. He turned back to Pythagoras, taking his arm and pulling him halfway into the tower.

“You have to tell me everyth--” he began. Then his eyes locked on Jason. He froze for a moment, his hands dropping from Pythagoras’ arm. “Jason.”

Jason glanced apologetically between Icarus and Pythagoras. “I didn’t want Pythagoras to go alone,” he said meekly, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than there.

Icarus stared at him for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether he believed him or not, before he smiled, and put out an arm to pull Jason into the tower as well. “I’m glad he wasn’t alone,” he said softly. His hand reached for Pythagoras’ and Pythagoras looped fingers with him. He could breath again; he had expected Icarus to be broken, lost and mad trapped in the labyrinth, but it was not so. He looked thinner, yes, and his face hollower, but he was okay. He was still Icarus. Pythagoras stepped into the tower and looked around.

The inside of the tower was larger than he’d imagined, and it looked very much like a slightly smaller, circular version of Daedalus’ workshop. Papers and scrolls were stacked in piles and strewn across the floor in a slightly haphazard manner, since there was no furniture in the room except one lonely stool at the center of the room. Pythagoras looked around the room slowly, taking it all in. Icarus and Daedalus had done their best to make the place look like home, and if it had not been their prison, Pythagoras imagined it would be an excellent place to work. His gaze traveled from the piles of papers to the mess of wooden skeletons of inventions, to the wicker basket sitting by the window half-full of feathers. Pythagoras glanced at Icarus for confirmation, and Icarus shrugged.

“I started to build more wings,” he said at Pythagoras’ unspoken question. “I thought we could fly out…”

“Well that was our plan as well,” Pythagoras said. He started to wriggle his arms from the leather straps on the wings. Beside him Jason did the same. “We have three sets in all.”

Icarus furrowed his brows. “Three?” he repeated. “But I only built one.”

Pythagoras shrugged, successfully sliding his one of his arms from the straps of the wing. “I built two more.” With one arm free, it was easier to slide the other wing off. He laid them carefully across the floor and moved to help Jason, who was still trying to shrug his arms free. He glanced back at Icarus, who looked surprised. “I just followed your design.”

Icarus nodded. “It’s not that,” he said. He closed the distance between them and put his lips right up to Pythagoras’ ear. “I had hoped to be your muse in a different way.”

Pythagoras’ face went completely red. Icarus stepped back with a satisfied smirk and glanced around the room. Daedalus gave him the most scornful look, though Pythagoras was certain he had not heard what Icarus had whispered. He prayed he hadn’t, at least.

“Three sets of wings won’t do us much good,” he said, glancing between his son, Jason, and Pythagoras. “There’s four of us.”

Jason nodded. “That’s the problem.” He finally slid his arms free of the wings, and Pythagoras rested them on the floor before he started to untie the third set of wings from where he’d strapped them to Jason’s back. “What we can do is fly one of you out, and come back for the other.”

Daedalus and Icarus looked at each other quickly. “I’ll stay,” Daedalus said as Icarus said, “That’s not an option.” They glared at each other.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Icarus said. He shook his head stubbornly. “Not if the gods themselves asked. No.”

“And you think I would leave you?” Daedalus demanded sharply. “I know what this labyrinth has done to you--”

“There has to be another way.” Icarus looked at Pythagoras and Jason, like he was waiting for them to pull another set of wings from Jason’s back with an exclamation of “Surprise!”. When neither of them did, he started across the room. “I’m almost finished with my first set of wings,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll finish them tonight--”

“The wax will never finish drying in time,” Daedalus told him scornfully. “You’d be a fool to--”

“I’m not leaving you here!” Icarus said, and spun to face Daedalus. “I’m not leaving you, and I’m not leaving Jason, or Pythagoras. We are all getting out of this tower as soon as possible.” He looked at Jason. “When are we leaving?”

Jason shook his head. “Dawn,” he said, half raising his arms. “Pythagoras and I should rest before we try to fly again.”

Pythagoras didn’t want to spend another instant in the tower, but he couldn’t deny that he was exhausted. He finished untying the wings from Jason’s back and set them down beside the others. “We should all get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

Daedalus nodded. “There’s no beds here,” he said. “But the floor isn’t so bad once you get used to it. I’ll get you some blankets.”

As Jason followed Daedalus, Pythagoras went to Icarus’ side. Icarus had settled himself on the floor in front of his set of nearly completed wings. Pythagoras sat beside him, and watched for a moment as Icarus started to arrange another row of feathers. He touched Icarus’ shoulder gently. “We’ll get out of here,” he said quietly. “I won’t leave you.”

Icarus offered him a small smile. “I know you won’t.” His fingers moved steady and nimble along the lengths of the wings, like he was weaving. He glanced at Pythagoras. His hands stopped their restless movement, and he touched Pythagoras’ face. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Pythagoras shook his head. “I said I wouldn’t leave you,” he said. “I keep my promises.”

Icarus’ leaned forward and brought Pythagoras’ lips to his. Pythagoras’ shoulders slumped, and he pressed himself to Icarus, tracing his hand along Icarus’ leg. Their lips parted, and they smiled tiredly at each other. “You should sleep,” Icarus told him, nodding towards where Daedalus and Jason had settled themselves on the floor. “You’ll need your strength.”

Pythagoras nodded. “Don’t work all night,” he said. He kissed Icarus once more before he got up and walked to the other side of the room. Daedalus snuffed out the candles, and Pythagoras laid flat on his back on the floor beside Jason. It wasn’t long before the air was filled with the soft, slow breathing of Jason sleeping, and the quiet snores of Daedalus. Pythagoras turned his head to look at Icarus, hunched over his wings with a candle flickering by his elbow. Sleep did not come easily for him, though he was exhausted down to his very bones. He got up and walked back to Icarus’ side.

Icarus glanced at him, eyebrows raised, but Pythagoras didn’t say anything. He laid down beside Icarus, so his side pressed against Icarus’ back. Icarus smiled faintly and returned to work. Pythagoras closed his eyes and focused on the warmth of Icarus’ back on his side. He drifted slowly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Pythagoras woke to Icarus’ dark hair tickling his chin, and a protective arm looped around his chest. He did not know when Icarus had finally fallen asleep, but it could not have been long ago. The candle that had been his source of light while he worked was melted to little more than a stub of wax. But as the pale light of dawn seeped in through the tower window, Pythagoras could see that Icarus had done as he’d said. The wings splayed out across the floor, beautifully crafted under Icarus’ expert hand, a motley collection of feathers and paper. Pythagoras looked down at Icarus curled protectively around him and smiled. “Icarus.”

Icarus opened his eyes slowly and blinked up at Pythagoras. He smiled sleepily. “It wasn’t a dream then.”

Pythagoras shook his head. “No.” He nodded towards the wings. “You finished them.”

Icarus followed his gaze and yawned. “Yes,” he said. He unlooped his legs from Pythagoras’ and yawned again. “Is it dawn?”

“Nearly.”

Icarus snuggled himself closer to Pythagoras and closed his eyes. “Let’s just not move for a moment, then.” Pythagoras smiled and closed his eyes again, leaning his head against Icarus’. It was easy to pretend for a moment that things were as they were supposed to be, and that they were not in the tower. Pythagoras imagined they were back in Atlantis, curled up together on the roof as they’d been so many years ago, wishing away the dawn so that they would never have to leave.

But as it had been then, Daedalus’ voice pulled them from their peace. “We should go soon,” said the old inventor, looking critically out the window. Jason was yawning as he pulled on his sandals. Daedalus glanced back at Pythagoras and Icarus. “People will start to rise soon. I do not want to be spotted; they’ll most likely shoot us from the sky.”

Pythagoras nodded, and he and Icarus disentangled themselves quickly, sitting up and blinking the sleep from their eyes. Daedalus walked over and began to examine Icarus’ wings. “You can’t fly these,” he said, glancing at his son. “They need more time…”

“We don’t have more time,” Icarus reminded him. “None of us are staying here alone. The wax has hardened; they’ll hold as long as I’m careful. Which I will be,” he added. Daedalus sighed and touched Icarus’ shoulder.

“Let’s prepare, then,” he said wearily.

Fifteen minutes later, and they were prepared to go. “You have to glide,” Jason said. “Don’t flap, or you’ll tear the wings. And don’t fly too high.” His eyes rested a fraction longer on Icarus than anyone else before he glanced out to the balcony. “Stick close together. It’s a long journey.” He stepped out onto the balcony, and a moment later he vaulted off the side. He dipped out of Pythagoras’ vision for a moment, and then he was up, soaring in an arc out over the labyrinth towards the sea.

Daedalus was next. He offered Icarus and Pythagoras a small smile, then followed Jason. Icarus stepped to the edge of the balcony and peered down anxiously. He looked back at Pythagoras. “In case this doesn’t work,” he said, raising his wings a little hesitantly. “Make sure my father is okay. I don’t want him to be alone.” He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “And I don’t want you to be either.”

“Icarus…”

Icarus shrugged. “I just want you to know. And I… I want you to know I love you.”

Icarus was gone before he could respond, dropping off the edge of the balcony into the open air. Pythagoras ran to the edge, his heart racing. But Icarus swooped up, soaring after Jason and Daedalus. Pythagoras held his breath and followed him.

* * *

 

By the time the sun was halfway above the horizon, they had passed above the labyrinth and were above the ocean. Pythagoras watched the waves beneath them shifting in an ever-changing mixture of blue, purple, and gold as the sun’s light bounced from the surface. It was beautiful, really, and with Icarus and Daedalus soaring with him, Pythagoras found himself able to admire the view. They flew in a loose line, with Jason at the front, Daedalus, Pythagoras, and Icarus in the back. Every few minutes Pythagoras would glance back at Icarus, who would smile at him reassuringly and drift a little higher on his wings. They seemed to be holding well enough, and as soon as they’d passed over the water, Icarus no longer seemed afraid of falling. He drifted experimentally from side to side, letting the winds take him where they pleased, rising and dropping on the gales with a look of elated freedom on his face. Pythagoras smiled at him and shook his head.

“We should do this back in Atlantis!” Icarus shouted to him. “Fly up over the city…”

“All the way up to the stars?” Pythagoras grinned.

Icarus’ wings rustled behind him. “Anywhere we wanted to go.”

Pythagoras turned back to look ahead. He could see the beach ahead of him, a stretch of pale gold among the blue of the waves. He turned back his head to call to Icarus. “We’re almost--”

Pythagoras didn’t see how exactly it happened. It could have been a gust of wind, or Icarus’ foolish desire to fly too high. Icarus screamed, and then he was falling, his wings scattering feathers everywhere as he plummeted towards the waves. “Icarus!” Pythagoras shouted. He struggled desperately to turn back towards Icarus against the winds. Icarus was still falling, his arms stretched up towards Pythagoras, his dark eyes wide and afraid. He shouted something, something Pythagoras couldn’t hear. He hit the water and vanished beneath the surface with a final, resounding splash. He did not resurface.

Jason appeared, his eyes wide and wild. “Go with Daedalus to shore,” he shouted at Pythagoras. Pythagoras couldn’t remember how to breath. He kept staring at the waves, waiting for Icarus’ dark hair to appear amid the blue, but there was nothing but the broken pieces of Icarus’ wings and a few feathers to even show that Icarus had fallen. Jason circled around him again. “Pythagoras, I need you to get Daedalus to shore. I’ll look for him.”

“He can’t be dead,” Pythagoras choked. He looked up at Jason. Tears stung his eyes. “He can’t--”

 _“Pythagoras!”_ Jason’s eyes were bright as he glared at Pythagoras, desperate and afraid. “ _Please_ go back to shore. Please.”

Pythagoras turned himself back towards the shore. He barely knew where he was flying; his eyes were blurred with tears. He couldn’t accept it. Icarus couldn’t be dead. It was all wrong, everything was wrong--

“What happened?” Daedalus demanded as Pythagoras pulled up even with him.

“Just keep flying.”

 _He’s not dead_ , Pythagoras told himself, over and over as they closed in on the beach. _He can’t be dead. He’s not dead_. He hit the ground hard, Daedalus landing a few feet from him in the sand. Hercules was already running out to meet them. _He’s not dead._

“What happened?” Hercules demanded as Pythagoras pulled the wings from his arms. He looked between Pythagoras and Daedalus uncertainly. “Where’s…?”

Pythagoras sucked in a breath. He didn’t want to look at Daedalus, and see his face when he told him. “Icarus fell,” he said, barely able to choke out the words. He saw Daedalus tense out of the corner of his eye. “Jason’s trying… he’s trying to see if he--if he…”

Daedalus stepped towards him and took his hand. His hands were rough in Pythagoras’. The hands of an inventor, he would probably say. “That boy’s a fool,” he said softly, his voice quavering. Pythagoras looked at him, at the mixture of determination to believe in the best and the fear in his eyes. “But he’s strong.” He turned his gaze back to the sea. “He’ll make it.”

Pythagoras said nothing. He wanted to believe Daedalus more than anything in the world. But Daedalus was a cynic, and a man of reason. They both knew that he didn’t quite believe what he was saying, and that made it all the worse. Hercules stepped up to Pythagoras’ other side and touched his shoulder.

“He’ll be alright, Pythagoras,” he said softly. “Jason will find him.”

Pythagoras’ gaze turned back to the sea and waited. After a while Jason came gliding in after them, his face grim. He landed unsteadily on the beach, and Pythagoras and Daedalus ran to meet him, with Hercules close behind.

“Where is he?” Daedalus demanded shakily. “My Icarus--?”

Jason pulled the wings from his arms and stepped towards them, his head bowed. “The wax on his wings wasn’t sealed right or something,” he said. Pythagoras had never heard him sound more defeated. “He got too high up and he just-- he fell. There was no sign of him.”

Daedalus seemed to sag where he stood, and he put his hands on Pythagoras’ shoulders to steady himself. Pythagoras felt his heart break a thousand times over as he met Daedalus’ gaze. He had lost everyone he loved to the sea. How could he bear it? How was he not on his knees, screaming at the sky? They must be cursed by the gods to have lost so much. “What did we ever do to deserve this?” Pythagoras whispered. Daedalus shook his head, and for the first time in Pythagoras’ life he saw Daedalus’ lip tremble as he fought back tears.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. He pulled Pythagoras to him. “I don’t know.”

Pythagoras didn’t think he’d be able to stand if Daedalus hadn’t been supporting him. He had promised that he would never lose Icarus again. But now he was gone, it was all gone; he would never hear Icarus laugh again, he’d never see Icarus’ sleepy smile in the morning. He would never joke with him again, never spend his nights curled in Icarus’ arms admiring the stars. He’d never kiss him, never get that satisfaction of surprising him, never hold his hand. Never tell him that he loved him, that he had loved him and had planned to love him for as long as Icarus wanted him.

Daedalus released him from his embrace, cupping Pythagoras’ face between his hands. Pythagoras looked up at him, and saw that Daedalus’ eyes were as red as his own. His lip trembled. “You poor boy,” he murmured. Pythagoras took a shaky breath. How could the gods be cruel to Daedalus? Pythagoras pulled free of his grasp and turned back to the sea. _Punish me_ , he wanted to shout at the sky. _Take me away, but give Icarus back_. Daedalus had been the closest thing to a father he’d ever had; he’d loved Icarus enough to sacrifice his freedom so that Icarus would not be alone. He’d cared for them both, loved them and taught them. Pythagoras kept walking until his feet were in the waves. Pythagoras was not guiltless; he deserved the cruelty of the gods perhaps. But Daedalus? Pythagoras dropped to his knees. Why? he kept asking himself, over and over in his head until the word felt seared there. _Why_ Icarus, _why_ did he have to die? _Why_ would the gods punish a man like Daedalus? _Why_ would they take away the one precious thing left to him when he had done nothing to deserve their anger? Pythagoras’ tears dropped from his cheeks and slid down his long nose, saltwater mixing with saltwater as they disappeared into the waves swirling around him.

Pythagoras didn’t know how long he sat there before he forced himself to rise to his feet. He wiped at his eyes angrily and glared at the sun. Its light made the waves look like they were tipped in gold. He looked across the water. He would never take joy in it again. Days by the sea seemed bitter and tainted to him now. How could he take happiness from those memories when he knew that the very same waves had claimed the man he had loved more than anything in the world? He was about to turn away when he saw it: a flash in the waves, a spot of darkness in the blue and gold. Pythagoras’ heart felt as though someone was squeezing it in his chest. He ran into the waves, his feet sending up splashes until he was up to his chest. He ignored the voices from behind him, of Jason and Hercules realizing what he was doing and chasing after him, shouting his name. He kicked out from the ocean floor and started to swim towards where he’d seen the dark spot.

When he reached the spot, there was nothing there. Pythagoras turned in a quick circle. His breath caught in his chest. The hope that had been so fleeting was gone, and he was really, truly alone. Pythagoras felt the tears welling in his eyes again, and he shook his head quickly. He’d been a fool, such a fool…

“Pythagoras.”

Pythagoras’ head shot bolt upright, and he turned his head quickly. He had to be imagining it, his mind had to be playing tricks…

Icarus’ dark curls bobbed above the water a few meters from him. Icarus waved a feeble hand at him, then dipped below the waves again. “Icarus.” Pythagoras kicked out towards him. Icarus’ hands closed tightly around his arms, and he pulled himself above the surface of the water. He looked half dead, but he was _alive_ , gloriously, wonderfully alive. He smiled feebly at Pythagoras, blinking salt from his eyes.

Pythagoras flung his arms around Icarus’ neck, and for a moment they both bobbed below the surface before Pythagoras pulled them back up. He touched Icarus’ face. “I thought you’d drowned,” he said, his voice breaking. He couldn’t tell if he was crying, or if it was the seawater running down his cheeks, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, just Icarus.

Icarus smiled at him, fighting the tears from his eyes. “I thought I did,” he said weakly. “It’s good I had such an excellent swimming teacher.”

Pythagoras couldn’t help but laugh. He pulled Icarus to him and kissed him, long and hard. “I love you,” he said, kissing Icarus again. “I should’ve told you before, I--” He kissed Icarus again. “I thought I’d lost you, and I couldn’t--”

“Pythagoras.” Icarus smiled at him, and it was the most glorious thing Pythagoras had ever seen. He would never grow tired of Icarus; he would love that smile, he would love the tears and the pain and everything else. Icarus pulled him close and pressed his temple to Pythagoras’. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

“Icarus!” Daedalus was running into the waves towards him. Icarus and Pythagoras kicked out towards shore quickly, and were up to their waists in the water when Daedalus reached them. He threw his arms around Icarus’ neck, and Icarus hugged him as tightly as he could. “You fool,” he whispered scoldingly into his son’s ear. Icarus started to laugh. “Don’t you scare me like that ever again, do you understand? My heart can only take so much strain.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Icarus mumbled. He was still smiling when Daedalus released him, holding him at arm’s length and glaring at him. He held up a warning finger to Icarus.

“Never again,” he said. He looked at Pythagoras. “That goes for you too.”

Pythagoras grinned at Daedalus. He reached for Icarus’ hand, and Icarus entwined their fingers. Jason and Hercules were running out to them, and when they got there Pythagoras held out an arm to them. They came together, all five of them, and it was like a giant tangle of arms and bumping shoulders surrounded him in a circle. Pythagoras looked around, at Jason’s look of relief, at Hercules’ smirking grin, at Daedalus trying to look irritated but unable to conceal his joy at having his son back. And of course Icarus, eyes bright and his smile wide, looking at Pythagoras like he was the only one in the world. None of them said anything.

There was nothing to say they didn’t already know.

******  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> I BET YOU ALL THOUGHT THOSE BEACH SCENES WERE JUST CUTE FLUFF, RIGHT? 
> 
> Okay, so maybe the last couple chapters got a little farfetched drama-wise, but I really wanted to work the original myth in there, and realized too late that I’d taken too long to do the build-up for it. My bad. But the last chapter is obscenely long, so hopefully that makes up for some of it. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who’s stuck around for this whirlwind of an adventure. This story’s been a brainchild of mine since the series ended, and I’m so beyond thrilled to have shared it with all of you. This is one of the most detailed fan projects I’ve done, and it’s been a blast from start to finish. Thank you all for your kind words and support (and for politely ignoring my typos and plot holes, I know there’s plenty of both)! Seriously, it means the world to me to be part of this fandom with such amazing people. Cheers!


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